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SAUNTERINGS IN EUROPE, 



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BY 



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CHARLES WOOD, 

Pastor of the Fourth Presbyterian Church of Albany, A''- V- 



WITH 

AN INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

p^ BY 

Wr M; TAYLOR, D . D . , 

Pastor of the Broadway Tabernacle of New York. 



>* n. 



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\ >:o..H.45r:8:/w 



NEW YORK : 
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY. 

900 BROADWAY, COR, 20th STREET. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 

By the Rev. W. M. Taylor, D.D., Minister of the Broadavay 

Tabernacle. 



BACON has said that " travel, m the younger sort, Is 
a part of education." It increases the intelligence ; 
it widens the sympathies ; it broadens the charity ; it at 
once rests and stimulates the faculties of the mind in 
general ; and it gives a certain zest forever after to all 
studies which bear, in any degree, on the history of the 
places which have been visited, or the doings of the per- 
sons who have been met. It furnishes the key to the 
understanding of many of the questions which are stir- 
ring in foreign countries, and helps us in the solution of 
the problems that are perplexing our own ; while it 
fills the memory with exquisite pictures of the grandest 
scenery, which at any moment we can recall, and from 
which we may draw ever new delight. Few things, there- 
fore, are more full of promise, than the increase in for- 
eign travel, which recent years have developed among 

our people. 

We are no advocates, indeed, for the education of our 
children in foreign lands. Many serious evils must result 
from such a procedure. In particular it tends to destroy, 

(vii) 



viii Introductory Note. 

or at least to weaken, that sentiment which is the proper 
accompaniment of our national institutions ; and it fos- 
ters habits which are entirely foreign to our simple 
home-life. But, when one has arrived at mature age, 
and grown into patriotic appreciation of his native land, 
he will be all the better fitted for the discharge of the 
active duties of life, by making a brief and observant 
tour through the countries of the old world. He will 
discover that all the good things are not either on this 
side of the Atlantic, or on that. He will learn how his 
own nation is appreciated in other lands ; and he will 
have an opportunity of studying the characteristics of 
other peoples, not as they are caricatured in literature, 
or exaggerated by individual specimens, but as they ap- 
pear, so to say, in situ. Thus he will be delivered from 
the insularity of prejudice, and learn to acknowledge the 
good wherever he may find it, as well as to reject the 
evil, no matter with what attendant accessories it may 
be commended to his acceptance. Most of all, he will 
return to his home with kindlier feelings in his heart 
toward those among whom he has sojourned for a season, 
and while he is no whit less properly national than be- 
fore, he will be more cosmopolitan. 

But not every one is so fortunate as to be able thus 
to travel ; and next to the pleasure and profit of actually 
making a foreign tour, are those which may be derived 
from reading the account of the excursions and obser- 
vations of an intelligent traveller. Such an account the 
reader will find in the little volume which I have been 
asked thus briefly to introduce to his notice. The 
'author, a young pastor, after some years of labor on the 



Introductory Note. ix 

shores of Lake Erie, spent many months abroad, and 
has here given us very distinctly his impressions of the 
men with whom he came in contact, and of the lands 
upon which he looked. He tells a plain, unvarnished 
story, in a vigorous and vivacious style. Those who 
have been where he has gone, will delight to have their 
own experiences revived as they read the record of his ; 
and those who purpose at some time or other to visit 
Europe for themselves, will find in these chapters a use- 
ful directory to the places and institutions which are 
most worthy of attention. The chapters were written 
while their author was " on the wing." They have, there- 
fore, all the charm of freshness, and will on that score 
be interesting, especially to the young. 

We commend the book most cordially to readers of 
every description, and rejoice in the thought that it will 
tend to draw them into closer sympathy with the trans- 
atlantic nations, between which and our own these ocean 
steamers are passing continually to and fro, like shuttles, 
weaving, as we trust, a web of amity and peace. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 
Crossing the Sea, i 

CHAPTER H. 
First Impressions, lo 

CHAPTER HI. 
A Sunday in London, • i? 

CHAPTER IV. 
From London to Paris, 26 

CHAPTER V. 
A Sunday in Paris, 35 

CHAPTER VI. 
A Half-hour in Paris with Mr. Gladstone, . . 46 

CHAPTER VII. 
Into Switzerland, 5' 

CHAPTER Vlll. 
From Vevey to Interlaken, 63 

CHAPTER IX. 
From Interlaken to the Rhone Glacier, ... 74 

(xi) 



xii Contents. 

CHAPTER X. 

From the Rhone Glacier to Lucerne, ... 86 

CHAPTER XI. 
The Rigi and Heidelberg, 98 

CHAPTER XH. 
A Day in Heidelberg, no 

CHAPTER Xni. 
A Sunday in Heidelberg, 119 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Worms, Frankfort, Wiesbaden, and Mayence, . 128 

CHAPTER XV. 
Down the Rhine, . . 137 

CHAPTER XVI. 
From Cologne to Eisenach, 149 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A Glimpse of Weimar, Leipsic, and Wittenberg, . 158 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
Berlin, 169 

CHAPTER XIX. 
A Sunday in Berlin, 180 

CHAPTER XX. 

An Emperor's Welcome, 190 



Contents. xiii 

CHAPTER XXI. 
From Berlin to Moscow, 199 

CHAPTER XXH. 
Moscow, 210 

CHAPTER XXni. 
St. Petersburg, 219 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Stables, and Churches of St. Petersburg, . 227 

CHAPTER XXV. 
The Ice-hills of St. Petersburg, 234 

CHAPTER XXVI. 
From Berlin to Prague, 239 

CHAPTER XXVII. 
South German Cities, 251 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 
Fro.m Stuttgart to Antwerp, 260 

CHAPTER XXIX. 
Antwerp and Holland, 269 

CHAPTER XXX. 
London Again, 277 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Three Meetings with Dean Stanley, . . . 285 



xiv Contents. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 
Thomas Hughes, O.C, 293 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 
Two English Towns, 299 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 
The Isle of Wight, and Brighton, .... 306 

CHAPTER XXXV. 
A Day in Oxford, . 312 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 
Edinburgh, 320 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

St. Andrews, Perth, and Aberdeen, .... 327 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
Through Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, . . 333 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 
Some Scotch Homes, 339 



CHAPTER I. 

CROSSING THE SEA. 

A Man Overboard — A Ground-swell — English Sailors — 
77/6' Britannic — Peculiar People. 

A MAN overboard ! A score of frightened passen- 
gers repeated the words which a sailor shouted on 
Sunday night, as we all sat on deck watching the moon- 
light. There was a rush to the stern. The engine was 
stopped ; quick orders came from the bridge. Some- 
thing dropped into the water and shot up into flame — 
a marvelous phosphorous light. A boat was lowered, 
and for half an hour a hundred eyes peered over the 
gunwale into the glistening waves. They saw nothing 
but foam and the great round shoulders of dark billows. 
In the afternoon, cutting the water only a few hundred 
yards behind us, we had noticed the black fin of a shark. 
We could not help thinking that perhaps his greedy teeth 
had already closed over the body of the poor sailor ; or it 
might be that he never rose after the first plunge, for the 
boat came back without him. Very few on board had 
ever heard that startling cry before. It was novel and 
thrilling to all of us. But to one crossing the ocean for 
the first time, everything on shipboard is as strange and 



2 Saunterings in Europe. 

interesting as the city to a country lad. Our steamer, 
which looked gigantic as she lay alongside the dock in 
New York, but which seems small enough out here in 
the " Forties," is to us a storehouse of wonders. The 
hour for the start had come and passed by two or three 
minutes, when a little silver whistle sent out a narrow 
thread of peculiar notes, and something moved. We 
thought half New York was backing out into the bay. 
The crowd on the dock gave a shout. We rushed up 
and down the deck in a semi-dazed condition, trying to 
see everything. In a moment our bow swung around, 
there was a commotion in the water behind us, and our 
trip of 3,000 miles had begun. Every fort and island we 
passed was the signal for a perfect volley of questions, to 
be shot by those who knew nothing at those who looked 
as if they knew something. The officers suffered badly 
at first, but a few snubs did the work, and they were left 
unmolested. As we passed out through the Narrows, 
we saw the ocean lying before us, calm and smooth as 
a lake, but every ripple as it went by seemed to say, 
" Just wait till to-morrow." We had misunderstood 
the threat by only two days. Every one was proud Sun- 
day and Monday. A mill-pond could not have been less 
terrible; but Tuesday! some will never forget that day. 
There had been a storm somewhere around the Banks, 
and about noon on Tuesday we ran into the results. The 
waves were not very high ; not one wore the accustomed 
white cap, but there was a long, heavy, and fearfully ef- 
fectual ground-swell. The deck was cleared as if grape 
and canister had shot across it. State-rooms and berths 
filled rapidly, but I am proud to say no one from our city 



Crossing the Sea. 3 

did anything worse than to look pale and unhappy. The 
night before I had heard a number expressing the wish 
that it took months to cross the Atlantic. The captain 
had no glass strong enough to discover those people on 
Tuesday night. 

After we passed the Banks we ran out of fogs and 
ground-swells, and gradually these wishers for a long trip 
have come out again, though they are still very far from 
numerous. The wind had been almost dead ahead till 
last night, then it blew more favorably, and they put up 
the sails — one of the most interesting sights we have yet 
had. Not that the raising of a few hundred yards of 
dirty canvas is calculated to produce much excitement, 
but the men themselves and the way they work, the trim- 
mings, so to speak^ of sail-hoisting, are very unique. A 
dozen or more of brawny Englishmen seize a rope, plant 
their feet firmly, lift up their heads toward the stars, and 
then begin, not to pull, oh no, but to sing. While all 
stood perfectly motionless, a boatswain with a fine bass 
voice sang as a recitative, with much expression, 

Ranzo was no sailor — Chorus (very hearty) Ranso, Ranzo. 

He shipped with Captain Taylor, Ranzo, Ranzo. 

He could not do his duties, Ranzo, Ranzo. 

They took him to the guard-house, Ranzo, Ranzo. 

He ate up all the codfish, Ranzo, Ranzo. 

They took him to the gangway, Ranzo, Ranzo. 

They gave him six and tharty, Ranzo, Ranzo. 

As they rolled out the first Ranzo of the chorus every 
muscle was stiffened, and like one man they gave a pull 
which made the dirty canvas shake, and at each Ranzo 
the sail crawled a little way further up the mast. Tliis 



4 Saunterings in Europe. 

may seem to a nervous American not a very energetic 
way of working, but if something like it could be intro- 
duced into all our shops and offices, many of our good 
doctors might find, like Othello, " their occupation 
gone." Such a practice, should it become general 
among draymen, hack drivers, and car conductors, and 
clerks and lawyers — yes, and even reporters and editors 
— would soon make any city the best known on the 
continent. 

But the sails of a steamer, after they are up, do but 
little more than steady the ship and add a few knots a 
day to her speed. The real power that pushed us yes- 
terday 339 miles nearer the dock at Liverpool is out of 
the sight of all but the curious. Two of the latter made 
yesterday a very thorough tour through the vitals of the 
Brita7inic. They saw sights there but little less hideous 
than Dante sings of in the " Inferno." We went first to 
the engine-room. It was hot, hotter than any church 
ever dreamed of being, even on a Sunday night in 
July. Then we walked through a narrow tunnel in 
which the screw shaft, lOO feet long, makes its ceaseless 
revolutions amid constant baths of oil and water. This 
is our reliance. Let that give way and we might not 
see Queenstown for a month. Down, at least fifty feet 
it seemed, we twisted our way from the engine-room, 
over a staircase not quite red-hot, yet it would have done 
nicely as an entrance to the torture-chamber of the In- 
quisition. When we were once down and looked around, 
we saw an iron footway leading between two rows of 
thirty-two red-hot furnaces. Something like a man, but 
more like the gnomes of which one reads in fairy sto- 



Crossing the Sea. 5 

ries, beckoned us to follow him. We went a little way, 
just a little way, and then without a halt even for breath, 
we turned and rushed for the deck with every desire for 
"a life on the ocean wave" burned out. 

I am quite sure if ever I complain of the heat again, 
the thought of the stokers of the Britannic will send 
cold shudders all up and down my back. It was while 
working by these furnaces that the man who was lost 
Sunday night became so exhausted that they were obliged 
to carry him on deck. He was a green hand, working 
his way over. He sat for a moment, so the sailors say, 
with his head on his hands, and then, without any 
warning, jumped upon the railing, and plunged into 
the sea. 

We have on board some of the most peculiar people 
that ever walked a deck ; at least that I ever saw walk- 
ing a deck. Of course the characteristic American, 
male or female, is here in the usual abundance. He 
smokes and drinks, and talks loud, and tells how the 
war might have been finished in six months. She talks, 
oh, yes, very long and very loud, puts her hands in her 
ulster pockets, laughs perpetually, and says : " Oh, why 
didn't you tell me, so that I could laugJi too?" The 
Englishman is here, and if these specimens do not belie 
him, he can be defined very simply " as the man who 
bets" ; for bet he does, and will, on everything. He 
bets on each day's run, and then bets a sovereign that 
he will win. He is in the smoking-room from morning 
till night, betting always ; for though he sometimes, 
generally every evening, plays cards for money, he takes 
bets on every game. *' Bet you a sovereign I'll win " ; 



6 Saunterings in Europe. 

" bet you a sovereign I'll lose." It is his second nature. 
He bets automatically. I have no doubt when the doc- 
tor tells him, " My friend, you have heart disease, you 
can not live twenty-four hours," he'll say, " Bet you a 
sovereign I haven't got it, and another that I'll live 
thirty." The other night this betting man won twenty 
pounds from a very innocent-looking Englishman, whose 
■■^Dwife, English too, has a good deal of American com- 
mon-sense. It was distressing to see the poor creat- 
ure, as she sat on deck knowing that her husband was 
throwing away enough to have given them both many 
a pleasant day in England or Switzerland. If men wxre 
not the most selfish creatures in the world gambling 
would soon become one of the lost arts. 

Besides Americans and English, almost every nation 
has sent some representative to fill out our passenger list. 
Among them are some Cubans who have attracted at- 
tention by their soft language and expressive gestures, 
and by the contrast they present to those who ordinarily 
come into the States from that Spanish island. They 
neither drink nor gamble, and when they use English 
they don't swear. One of them told me the other day, 

. much to my surprise, that while he did not believe in 
the Church of Rome, he did believe in the Bible and in 
Jesus Christ as the Saviour. " When I was about to be 
married," he said, " I told the lady she might go to her 

. church as much as she wished, and I would go too, but 
she must choose between the confessor and me." He 
smiled with a sense of great satisfaction, as he added, 
'*' She took me." If what many Englishmen say of the 
increase of ritualistic practices in their own Church is 



Crossing the Sea. 7 

true, English bridegrooms may some day need to make 
similar conditions. 

We have among the passengers a lady of whom I 
must say a word. From what State she comes is not 
known. I am sure no cities will ever wrangle over her, 
as the famous seven did over the Grecian bard. She 
was talking the other night, so they say, of Scotland. 
" Oh, yes," she said, " I went to a pretty place there, an 
author's house." Some one suggested " Abbotsford." 
" I think that was it," she said. '' Who lived there ? " 
" Why, Sir Walter Scott." '' Oh, yes, I think that 
sounds like the name." She was asked : '^ Have you 
ever read the ' Lady of the Lake ' ? " '' No, I don't 
think I have, but I have heard of it ; it's a book just 
out, isn't it?" After seeing two or three such Ameri- 
cans, what must foreigners think of our public schools ? 

But an item of encouragement. By common consent, 
the most disagreeable man on board is a young fellow 
about twenty-five. He is coarse, profane, drunken, and 
attempts to be witty ; is fond of childish practical jokes, 
over which he laughs immoderately. I felt sure he was 
an American, but to-day, much to my joy, I heard he 
was born and brought up in Yorkshire. 

A New York lawyer said to me yesterday, as we 
leaned over the railing and looked down at the sea rush- 
ing past us, ''There is nothing which to my mind shows 
so perfectly the power of the human intellect as a steam- 
ship like this." For a moment I thought the remark an 
exaggeration, but when I tried to mention other more 
wonderful inventions, I concluded he was right. A lit- 
tle village is floating here on the Atlantic, and being 



8 Saunterings in EuROrE. 

pushed steadily every day against wind and current and 
storm, three-fourths the distance between New York 
and Buffalo. I should have said a little city, for we 
have almost every luxury known to the dwellers in our 
modern towns. We sit down to a table — which we do as 
regularly as the striking of the ship's bells, and about 
four times a day — that compares favorably with that of 
any hotel in New York. Yet, with all this, it is a very 
different thing to think and talk about the ocean when 
you are on land, and to feel something of its power, 
even in a great steamship. 

These few days since we left the bay, have brought 
us into very close sympathy with Christopher Colombo. 
We had studied about him in ink-stained geographies, 
but to be on the very ocean he crossed, to put your foot 
down just as he probably did, to find it on another plank 
from the one you were looking at, to see nothing around 
you but waves and clouds and Mother Cary's chickens ; 
ah ! this gives me a feeling of fellowship with the good 
old Spanish sailor. But to think of what we have that 
he had not ! In fact, we know of nothing that he did 
have, except a mutinous crew and one egg, and that 
must have been anything but a treasure, for he had 
no ice-box like that in which the Britannic keeps her 
stores of luxuries, and from which her stewards bring 
you milk on the tenth day as fresh as that which you 
had on your own table this morning. ''The sad, sad 
sea," '' the melancholy sea," so men have called it ; but 
what is there on land or water that does not receive its 
lights or shadows from the brightness or gloom which 
rests upon the heart of him who looks upon it 1 The 



Crossing the Sea. 9 

waves will seem to laugh in scorn or gladness, as the ear 
and heart interpret the sounds. Nature is never sad to 
the joyous, never glad to the heavy-hearted. As I have 
stood, not on, but under, " the bridge at midnight," 
"one thought has come to me o'er and o'er" — the im- 
mensity of the ocean, its symbolization of eternity. To 
go on this way, not for a week, but forever — that is 
eternity. To be surrounded by all that is best ; to feel 
no pain, or sickness ; no regret, no remorse ; to go on 
forever, always satisfied — that is heaven. 



CHAPTER II. 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 



An English N'ezvspapcr — Enterhtg London — London 
' ' Lions "— The Tower— St. Paul 's— The Abbey. 

ON Sunday night, at eleven o'clock, eight days from 
the time we left Sandy Hook, we saw two lights 
on the Irish coast. It was the first evidence we had had 
for a week that the world, the solid part of it, was still 
swinging on in the old way. With the full moon stream- 
ing down upon the ocean, the ship, and the land, at two 
o'clock Monday morning we were exchanging salutes of 
many-colored rockets, with the Government houses at 
Fastnet, and we knew that friends in the States would 
read, among the telegrams in that morning's paper — for 
our time was six hours ahead of yours — of the arrival of 
the Britannic. Great white gulls came sweeping out 
from the channel, as if to bring us a welcome. They fol- 
lowed us within a hundred feet of the ship's stern, in 
easy, graceful flight, nearly the whole day. Little huts 
in the midst of green fields with hawthorn hedges ; now 
and then a hoary castle or broken tower; here and there 
a quaint vilLige — such are the outlines of the picture 

which old Ireland spread before our eager eyes this 
(lo) 



First Impressions. ii 

beautiful morning. A tug came out about eight o'clock 
from Queenstown, to take off some of our passengers ; 
and bringing also, a fact in which we were more inter- 
ested, the London papers. It was a pleasant thing to 
hold a newspaper in the hand once more ; but it was an 
unpleasant thing to find only the briefest telegrams from 
America, and those statistics of the spread of the yellow 
fever in the South. The London press pays but little 
attention to local news, and even the foreign telegraphic 
columns are much less satisfactory than those of the 
New York dailies. Englishmen rely largely for their 
news on long letters from everywhere, written by every- 
body."^ They cling, with a tremendous grip, to all the 
old ways. There are not more than a half dozen hotels in 
London where tallow candles are not still in constant use. 
From Liverpool to London by either of the two rail- 
way lines, is a novel and most interesting ride for an 
American who has never before been out of his own 
country. The cars are different from anything he has 
ever seen ; so are the engines, or rather they are very 
like the pictures which hang on so many American walls 
of that first and original locomotive which startled our 
ancestors to the verge of fright, as it rushed madly over 
the rails at the rate of ten miles an hour. Not that the 
modern English engines are lacking in speed ; they make 
as good, or better time perhaps, than our own, but there 
is no covering for engineer and fireman : they must stand 
unprotected and take the weather just as it comes, and 
in England it comes in as large quantities, and in as 



* This is a " first impression," later ones have changed my 
opinion. 



12 Saunterings in Europe. 

many varieties, as in any place I know of. If English 
cars and English locomotives are surpassed by Ameri- 
can, the fields that lie alongside the track need have no 
such fear. Americans know that grass is green, and 
that grain, ripe for the harvest, is yellow, but English 
grass is greenness, and English grain is yellowness. We 
were too late to see the hawthorn hedges in bloom — 
England owes not a little of her picturesqueness to these 
hedges — but we were just in time to see the great 
hundred-acre fields filled with harvesters. More than 
one hundred, sometimes more than two hundred men, 
women, and children were busy raking and binding and 
gleaning on these immense estates. Every autumn a 
grand harvest festival is held in St. Paul's Cathedral, and 
the day of its celebration, I am told, is not very different 
from our own Thanksgiving. Coming by the railroad 
you steal so quietly on the " metropolis of the world " 
that you are in it before you know it. A feeling of sur- 
prise, and a feeling, I know not what to call an emotion 
so indescribable, came to us as the guard unlocked the 
door and shouted ''London!" London! the city ot 
the Romans and Normans ; London, the old-time home 
of Chaucer and Shakespeare and Milton and Johnson ; 
the home of Carlyle. London, over whose streets have 
ridden the mightiest kings and captains of the world. In 
whose churches have gathered the very men and women 
whose names are scattered all over the pages of our his- 
tories. To look upon London for the first time is to form 
for yourself an ever memorable epoch. 

We found hotel life just about what we had been told 
it was. The waiters are very solemn, and funereal, and 



First Impressions. 13 

slow. English minutes, like English shillings, are twice 
the size of ours. They know nothing in English hotels of 
'' lumping things " as we do in America. An ordinary bill 
for a week would have in it almost as many headings and 
items as the catalogue of a society of natural science. 
The memory of the hotel clerk is prodigious. He never 
forgets, apparently, to charge anything. If you have had 
ice in your water you will find it out when you read your 
bill. English editors and reporters are not for a moment 
to be compared in their attention to details with EngHsh 
landlords. We stopped in London only five days, but that 
is long enough to see an immense amount. For, though 
London is a city of great distances, yet the most inter- 
esting part of it, the part every square yard of which is 
packed with historical associations, lies between West- 
minster Abbey and the Tower, a distance not as great as 
from the Battery to Forty-second Street. However short 
the time may be, every one who goes to London visits 
the Tower. They are wise. Many of them might say, 
without exaggeration, that the two hours thus spent 
were among the most interesting of their lives. You may 
look on the very armor worn by famous crusaders. You 
handle— if the " beef-eater " does not see you — the very 
sword and lance which were once held in that iron glove. 
Out from the barred openings of helmets the Hght from 
the eyes of living knights seems to flash upon you. The 
age of chivalry, the tales of troubadours and wandering 
story-tellers become real. You sit in the chapel of St. 
John, where William the Conqueror and his Norman 
soldiers used to gather for worship. You stand in the 
rooms where Raleigh and Lady Jane Grey were im- 



14 Saunterings in Europe. 

prisoned. You look up at the carved roof of the ban- 
queting hall, where Henry VIII. gave great feasts to his 
wives ; you are within a few steps of the place where 
he beheaded them. You gaze one moment through 
thick glass, upon $20,000,000 worth of crown jewels, and 
the next, you look upon the block where heads v/orthy 
to wear a crown were laid, and where blood of priceless 
preciousness was shed. The guide — called by the name 
which we usually apply to all Englishmen, " beef-eater" — 
tries to tell you everything, answers questions with great 
patience, and yet has time, as our party found out, to 
make up his mind as to what you are and where you 
came from. 

Americans live in the delusion that they can talk 
English, and that by the aid of a high hat and a silk 
^ umbrella, they can pass unnoticed in any crowd. One 
or two hours in London are sufficient to convince any 
reasonable-minded American that he is mistaken. Our 
way of talking is so entirely different from the English, 
that high hats and umbrellas are found to be of no use 
whatever in concealing our identity. The "beef-eater" 
knew us for Americans, but for that matter so did every 
C one else. If in America there is an American who is 
ashamed of being known as such, there is but one thing 
for him to do — stay home. 

From the Tower we went out through the gate, under 
whose arches so many coronation processions have pass- 
ed to the Abbey. What sights there have been along 
that triumphal route which winds through Cheapside 
and the Strand ! What hopes have throbbed in royal hearts 
as the cortege swept on toward the Abbey and the 



First Impressions. 15 

crown. What fears have filled the hearts of the con- 
demned as they have been hurried through these streets 
toward the Tower, and the block. We went from the 
Tower toward the Abbey. On the way we passed our 
first cathedral, grand old St. Paul's. It loomed up 
through the smoke, beautiful, majestic, sublime. The 
noblest works of art approach the works of nature. 
They produce an impression not dissimilar. The mo- 
ment when one first looks upon a great cathedral is 
not unlike the moment when one first looks upon a 
great mountain or cataract. The antiquarians of Lon- 
don have been much excited by the discovery which 
some workmen made in digging around St. Paul's of old 
pillars and arches, supposed to be the ruins of a cathe- 
dral built by the Normans nearly on the same ground as 
the present one. Almost everywhere in England you 
stumble against buildings or ruins of buildings which saw 
their days of glory long before Columbus saw America. 

Westminster Abbey is a more familiar name to most 
of us than St. Paul's. It has associations which are 
lacking to the great temple. The gray old walls of the 
Abbey sweep your thoughts backward more than a 
thousand years. Four centuries before the Norman 
ships crossed the channel the Saxon Sebert had laid 
the foundations of the Abbey. Nine hundred years 
ago King Edgar replaced the sacred stones which 
the lawless Danish hands had thrown down and scat- 
tered. You enter that richly carved oaken door and 
the phantom-like forms which have so often started 
up from the pages of English literature, stand before 
you hewn in stone. Shakespeare and Milton are 



i6 Saunterings in Europe. 

there. Scott and Campbell and Southey and Words- 
worth are remembered in costly monument or eulogic 
epitaph. There, side by side, lie the two, who as 
boys came up to London 150 years ago, from the same 
town. Jealous as they sometimes were of each other's 
success, Johnson and Garrick loved each other, and not 
unfittingly they sleep together in this honored place. 
Here are the two Pitts, William, Earl of Chatham, and 
his not less famous son. Here are the two Macaulays, 
Zachary, the philanthropist, and the more celebrated 
son whose gifts as essayist, statesman, and historian have 
made his name more lasting than this deeply-hewn in- 
scription on the marble. 

Hours fly by like moments as you walk under that 
arched roof, and recall the stories of the lives of the 
mighty dead who there lie buried. You forget the 
time in which you live, so vivid are the thoughts of the 
centuries when these men, whose ashes are beneath your 
feet, ruled as kings in State or Church, in literature 01 
art. 



CHAPTER III. 

A SUNDAY IN LONDON. 

The Tej?iple CJnirch — A Service in St. PaitVs—A Sermon 
in the Abbey — Canon Farrar. 

DR. JOHNSON said to Boswell more than a cent- 
ury ago, '' The full tide of life in London flows 
by Charing Cross." A hundred years have made great 
changes in the mighty city, but Johnson's words are as 
true to-day as when they were spoken. We were wak- 
ened on our first Sunday morning in the English me- 
tropolis by the chimes of St. Martin's church at Charing 
Cross, once called appropriately '' St. Martin's in the 
Fields." The old name still remains, but " The Field " 
is covered with massive granite buildings. 

Only a few pleasure-seekers were in the Strand as we 
walked toward the great Cathedral of St. Paul's. There 
were many London preachers whom I was anxious to 
hear, but the times were unpropitious. Newman Hall 
and Joseph Parker were out of the city, and Mr. Spur- 
geon was ill. With but very few exceptions London 
shops are closed on Sunday, and the business streets 
deserted. I have never seen a city where the change ^ 
from Saturday to Sunday was so marked. 

As we passed on toward the Cathedral, we felt that every 

(17) 



1 8 Saunterings in Europe. 

step of the way was historic ground, consecrated by the 
hves of Milton and Goldsmith and Johnson and Rey- 
nolds. Many a time had they trodden this same street ; 
looked upon these same warehouses and shops and 
churches. Here just before us is where the famous 
Temple Bar stood so long. English kings and queens 
have dismounted before it, to ask of the Lord Mayor a 
formal permission to enter " the city." Upon its grace- 
ful arch the heads of traitors and enemies to the crown 
were uplifted with huge pikes, as a warning to any evil- 
doers who might pass that way in the surging crowds. 
But the increase of traffic was not to be impeded by 
even so historic a gate as this. Only a few signs now 
remain to mark the place where it once stood. There, 
to the right, a few yards away, is the old Temple Church 
built by a patriarch of Jerusalem seven hundred years 
ago. Over these stones, on high-mettled steeds, with 
armor and battle-axe, swept in those olden days scores 
of Knights Templar to the doors of this church which 
had been built for them. It must have been a won- 
drous sight, when these mailed warriors were kneeling 
in prayer within those thick walls, while before the win- 
dows stood richly-dressed pages, holding the bridles 
and shields of their masters, and through the open 
doors came the sounds of jingling armor, the champing 
of bits, and the dashing of horses' hoofs on the pave- 
ment. In the church the memory of some of these 
Templars has been preserved in effigies of bronze. Out- 
side, near one of the windows, is a simple inscription to 
the memory of one whose life, like that of so many men 
of genius, was unhappy, but whose brain and heart 



A Sunday in London. 19 

were large, the Immortal author of the " Vicar of Wake- 
field," Oliver Goldsmith. 

We might stop again, if it were not Sunday, when we 
had walked a few feet further ; for here is the Mitre 
Tavern, where Johnson and Boswell and Reynolds and 
Garrick passed so many evenings. Some of the best 
things Johnson ever said to Boswell, he said here. 
Some of the most foolish things that Johnson and Bos- 
well ever did, were done here. Often together they came 
out of that door to walk along this street toward ^he 
same Cathedral to which we must now hurry. A mass 
of gray ; a mighty dome looming up through the mist ! 
such is St. Paul's as you walk up Ludgate Hill. 

We have churches in America ; we have buildings 
which are sometimes called cathedrals ; but a cathedral 
in the English or German or Italian meaning of the 
term, we have not. We are certainly losers aesthetical- 
ly ; but I have yet to see a cathedral as well fitted for 
the true purpose of a church building, the worship of 
God, and the preaching of His Word, as scores of our 
own churches. 

But St. Paul's is majestic beyond description. It is 
among English churches what Mt. Blanc is among the 
Alps. The architect, Sir Christopher Wren, has within 
its walls no statue of marble or bronze to perpetuate his 
memory; he needs none. "He who would see my 
monument as he stands in St. Paul's," said he, " let him 
look above and around him." We entered the great 
doors, to find no carpeted aisles or cushioned pews — ■ 
these are comforts reserved for churches and chapels — 
but a floor formed of solid marble slabs, upon which, 



20 Saunterings in Europe. 

fastened together in long rows by rough strips of wood, 
were perhaps a thousand straw-bottomed chairs. Here 
can come, if they will, the richest nobles and the poorest 
beggars. Some of both classes do come ; but the con- 
gregation was made up almost entirely of that class 
which has been defined as " lying between the froth and 
dregs," the solid middle class. If you would find the 
nobility at worship, you must seek in a more fashiona- 
ble portion of the city ; if you would find the so-called 
masses at worship, you must turn your steps toward one 
of the Romish churches, or to a Church of England 
mission chapel, or to some great tabernacle for the peo- 
ple, like Mr. Spurgeon's. In the old Temple the rich 
and the poor met together ; but there are, alas ! very 
few modern temples of which a like assertion could be 
truly made. 

I was disappointed in the service at St. Paul's. Prob- 
ably because of the immense size of the building, every- 
thing, with the exception of the Scripture lessons, is in- 
toned. Intoning, as it is ordinarily done, as it was done 
that day, is unsatisfactory, if you care at all to know what 
is being said. The only words which conveyed any mean- 
ing at all to my mind, were a few familiar sentences in 
the lessons. A friend who was with me, and who paid 
close attention, said that he was even less fortunate. 
Neither was the music as grand as I had expected. 
Perhaps some of the choristers were off on their sum- 
mer vacation : for the volume of sound which came 
from the choir was unpleasantly thin. St. Paul's shows 
also in its services a ritualistic tendency. The forms 
of the Prayer-Book are observed, but there are many cer- 



A Sunday in London. 21 

emonies, which Hke works of supererogation, seem val- 
ueless to the Low Churchman and Dissenter. Through 
these modifications, elements of weakness are being 
introduced. The part which was formerly, and is now 
ordinarily, allotted to the people, is taken from them 
and given to the choir. The claim, and the lawful 
claim, made for the advantages of some liturgical forms, 
that through them the voices of the people as well 
as of choir and minister can be heard, does not hold 
good for a service like that of St. Paul's. It is to be 
hoped that if the Church of England and the Episcopal 
Church of America should commit so great an error, 
the Reformed Churches at least will endeavor by some 
means to develop the power which was once, and is still, 
largely maintained by the rightful use of a responsive 
service. 

We had not time, as we passed out, to spend many 
moments even before the most famous tombs of St. 
Paul's — Wellington's and Nelson's. We could only cast 
a hasty glance upon the costly monuments with which 
England has remembered her great Captain and Ad- 
miral, and then hurry on into the Strand again, to visit 
the pretty little church, in which all readers of Boswell's 
" Life of Johnson " will take some interest. Every 
Sunday, according to Boswell, with rolling gait and 
puffing breath, the eloquent conversationalist and emi- 
nent lexicographer used to come along the Strand to take 
his seat here in the Church of St. Clement Danes. The 
service was so nearly concluded that I did not enter, 
but stood near the door and looked at the high-backed 
pews, and wondered in which had sat that strange com- 



22 SaUNTERINGS IN EUROPE. 

bination of philosopher and Christian man of the world, 
who sometimes drank too much wine, but who could 
boast that he had never been inside a Dissenting chapel. 
Every Sunday afternoon at three o'clock, during Au- 
gust, Canon Farrar preached in Westminster Abbey. 
He was one of the English clergymen whom I was anxi- 
ous to hear — the one next to Spurgeon, whom I was 
most anxious to hear. The morning had been bright, 
but the afternoon was the perfection of a London day — 
dark, with thick clouds, from which every few moments 
came sudden dashes of great round drops of the wettest 
kind of rain. Through all this, a great crowd stood for 
nearly half an hour before the doors of the Abbey, wait- 
ing with as much patience as possible for their opening. 
The moment the bolts were drawn, a mass of pushing, 
crowding, elbowing human beings rushed through the 
aisles, some — could they have been Episcopalians ? — 
over the backs of the pews into the most advantageously 
located seats. As it was described to me — for I was not 
in time to see this myself — it was a scene not well adapted 
to the arousing of devotional feelings. Though it was 
nearly three o'clock when I entered, I was fortunate 
enough to be placed in a very excellent position both 
for hearing and seeing. These afternoon services are 
not held in the great nave of the Abbey, but in what is 
called the choir, which has been separated from the nave 
by a partition ; so that there are seats for not more than 
1,000 or 1,200. As the aisles were partly filled, per- 
haps there were 1,500 present that afternoon — by no 
means as large a congregation as can be found in some 
of the Dissenting chapels. 



A Sunday in London. 23 

The service in the Abbey was in every way a contrast 
to that of St. Paul's. The forms of the Prayer-Book 
were followed without variation. The responses were 
made by the people. Every word, from the beginning 
to the end, could be distinctly heard. Though only half 
the usual number of choristers were present (some of 
the little fellows looked in their white gowns like Raph- 
ael's Cherubs), the volume of sound was not notice- 
ably deficient. The lessons and prayers were read by 
two canons, who occupied what are called " stalls " at 
opposite sides of the choir. Canon Farrar was unseen 
and unheard till the singing of the hymn just before the 
sermon, when he came up the aisle, preceded by a ver- 
ger, whose coat was covered with gold lace, and who 
carried in his hand with great dignity, a long golden- 
headed staff. At the conclusion of the hymn. Canon 
Farrar rose in the pulpit, which stands, I am told, only 
a few feet from the spot where the coronation chair is 
placed when a royal head is to be crowned. He an- 
nounced, in a clear, distinct tone, that his text would be 
found in 2 Cor. vi. 2 : '' Behold, now is the accepted 
time ; behold, now is the day of salvation." He spoke 
very quietly, without much inflexion of the voice, and 
with no gestures, with the exception now and then of a 
nervous lifting of the right hand, with which he grasped 
for a few moments an arm of the candelabra which ex- 
tended close to his side. He began by a reference to 
the subjects about which he had been speaking for the 
last two Sabbaths — What is Failure? and What is Suc- 
cess ? This afternoon he wished to speak of that imme- 
diate choice of the true and the good, without which 



24 Saunterings in Europe. 

true success is impossible to all. He showed simply and 
plainly that all present knew what was right, and what 
they ought to do, and that now was the best of all possi- 
ble, or at least of all probable, opportunities for making 
choice of this life of duty, this Christian life. The future 
is deceptive, much of the brightness of its possibilities is 
lent by distance. The heart is callous in old age — may 
be petrified in the last hours of life. " Now is the day 
of salvation." 

With a carefully-worded apology for making use of 
such an arousing instrumentality, he introduced an illus- 
tration. '^ The American evangelist," he said (I was 
startled to think that Dwight L. Moody, of Chicago, was 
about to be quoted in Westminster Abbey), "whose 
name is known to you all, has told this story." Then 
he related an anecdote, which did good service before 
Mr. Moody was born. An egg-hunter on the coast of 
Ireland swings himself under a rock in his eager quest. 
The rope escapes his grasp ; each second its vibrations 
are diminishing ; a moment, and it may be beyond his 
reach forever. He hesitates, but with a prayer to God, he 
leaps, clutches, with a grip like that of despair, the quiv- 
ering line, and is safe. In a suggestive and original way 
he made use of this, to urge upon all who heard him to 
grasp now these opportunities which each moment swing 
further away. " Now is the accepted time." Not by 
any means a remarkable sermon when heard from a Pres- 
byterian, Methodist, or Baptist pulpit ; but for such words 
of pleading exhortation to be spoken in the old Abbey, 
where their ringing tones broke against the monuments 
and tombs of Shakespeare, and Addison, and Garrick, 



A Sunday in London. 25 

and Macaulay, was a cause for wonder and for thankful- 
ness. 

As we went out through the great nave of the Abbey, 
not a few stopped and read with moistened eyes the ex- 
quisitely-worded inscription on the marble slab which 
covers the body of David Livingstone — brave, true-heart- 
ed Christian man and missionary. There are some, I am 
sure, whose hearts, as they stood by that tomb, were up- 
lifted in prayer, that their lives might be as pure, and as 
full of love toward God and man. 



CHAPTER IV. 

FROM LONDON TO PARIS. 

Days of Glory and Infamy — The Exposition — Versailles 
— Sevres — A Lost Boy, 

IT would be difficult to find on the rivers or lakes of 
America a more unprepossessing and uncomfortable 
passenger boat, than that which runs between England 
and France, from Dover to Calais. Over this great 
thoroughfare of the world, plies a little tug-like vessel, 
whose uncovered deck in a storm is swept from end to 
end by water from the heavens and the channel. Such 
was the craft that stood puffing at the Dover pier as I 
stepped out of what the English call "the fast service" 
about nine o'clock one night on my way to the continent. 
I had been told repeatedly in England that it was noth- 
ing to cross the ocean ; the channel was the true test for 
the sailor. But the innumerable cross currents which 
are wont to hold high carnival there, were quiet that 
night, as if resting for an hour from their wild sport. The 
electric Dover light had scarcely disappeared, when the 
electric Calais light appeared. In less than two hours 
from the time we steamed out of the Dover harbor we 
had answered in American French the few hurried ques- 
tions of the Government officials as to what country we 

(26) 



From London to Paris. 27 

were from ? and how we called ourselves ? and were in 
the little town whose name Queen Mary said they would 
find written in her heart. At half-past six the next 
morning, after a few hours of sleep, and a number of 
hours of entertaining conversation with a New York 
banker, and a New York publisher, we found ourselves 
in a city whose name calls up as varied associations as 
any other of the world's capitals. What days of glory 
and of infamy have been hers ! What crowds have filled 
her streets to welcome home from victorious wars a Louis 
or a Napoleon ! What mobs of men and women have 
swept madly through these boulevards, to lay the torch 
at the doors of some palace, or to dash from its pedestal 
some monument of national greatness. The city of 
Charlemagne and of Louis Ouatorze, of Robespierre and 
Raoul Rigault, of Napoleon IIL and Victor Hugo. How 
full is the history of her honors ! How full is the history 
of her infamies ! Everywhere statues and columns and 
churches and the names of rues and boulevards recall 
what she has been, and through what she has passed. 
You stand in the Place de la Concorde by the Egyptian 
obelisk, on the spot where Louis XVL and Marie An- 
toinette and 2,800 others were beheaded in the few 
months which separated 1793 and 1794. To the north 
you see the beautiful church of the Madeleine with its 
fifty-two exquisitely-molded Corinthian columns. Begun 
in 1764, its completion was retarded by two revolutions, 
and an abdication. To the south, just across the Seine, 
the eye rests on another great edifice surrounded by 
Corinthian columns, the palace of the Bourbons, from 
which republican chisels have cut away all traces of roy- 



28 Saunterings in Europe. 

ally. Here, to the east, are the gardens and the palace 
of the Tuileries, named from the brick-yards which once 
covered these acres, built by a princess of infamous mem- 
ory, Catherine de Medicis, in whose fiendish heart orig- 
inated the massacre of St. Bartholomew's day ; used by 
her for a magnificent fete given four days before that 
frightful morning, which was there intentionally foreshad- 
owed in allegorical representations. Occupied for nearly 
200 years by kings as their royal residence, it has been 
three times plundered by a French mob, and almost 
burned to the ground in 1871 by the commune. As you 
turn and look to the west, what has been called the most 
magnificent boulevard in the world is before you. The 
Champs Elysees, as the name implies, is rather a park 
than a street. It is more than five times as wide as New 
York's far-famed avenue. A mile and a quarter away is 
Napoleon's arch of triumph, majestic in size, the largest 
in Europe. Every group and statue on its immense 
front is exquisitely shaped. Yet, under that triumphal 
arch, down the Champs Elysees to the palace of the Tuil- 
eries, less than a decade ago marched the victorious Ger- 
man army. Where on earth is there a city whose history 
is so full of startling contrast as that of beautiful Paris ? 
The World's Exposition of 1878 is great, but it is 
overshadowed by the more intensely interesting city. 
All who had never been in Paris before, begrudge the 
time which was required for a visit to the fair. There 
is so much to be seen on the north side of the Seine, 
that only old travelers comparatively familiar with the 
sights, go often to the Champ de Mars. There are 
many beautiful things in the great building which faces 



From London to Paris. 29 

the Trocadero, but the historical interest which enhances 
so greatly the attractiveness of the Louvre galleries and 
the palaces of the Tuileries and Versailles, is wanting 
there. I went out, of course, as every one else does, to 
the last-named palace, the monument of the greatness 
and folly of Louis XIV. I was amazed at the immensity 
of everything, terraces and fountains and banqueting- 
halls and art galleries ; but no American, I imagine, looks 
at Versailles without being very confident in his own 
heart that with $200,000,000 he could build something 
much more comfortable and cosy. We were more inter- 
ested in the grand Trianon and the royal carriage-house 
than in anything else, with the exception of the room in 
the palace, where the great Louis, the originator of all 
this gorgeousness, breathed his last, and the apartments 
of Marie Antoinette, from whose windows, on that terri- 
ble October night in 1789, she had looked out on a wild, 
shrieking mob which filled the court. In the Trianon are 
the rooms occupied by Josephine, when she was the wife 
of Napoleon. Who can help pitying the lonely empress 
as they read the story of her life ! Beautiful in person, 
lovely in character, it will be many a long year before 
the name of Josephine will have lost its fascination. 
Between the grand and petit Trianon is the above-men- 
tioned royal carriage-house. The carriages themselves, 
some twenty in number, are immense structures, covered 
most lavishingly with gilding and cloth of gold. Any of 
them passing up Fifth Avenue would excite great en- 
thusiasm. But you look upon them with a feeling not 
unlike awe, not because they might be sold for so many 
francs, but that on those cushions worked in gold, once 



30 Saunterings in Europe. 

reclined Louis XIII., Napoleon I., Charles XII., Napo- 
leon III. What heads have leaned against that embroid- 
ered velvet ! What emotions have pulsed through proud, 
brave hearts, as the crowds have made way for their out- 
riders, and rent the air with cheers as the royal carriage 
swept by. The gilding is still bright and fresh, but the 
glory of king and emperor has departed. These carri- ' 
ages stand unused by the republic. They stand almost 
as if waiting and hoping for a revolution which would 
restore the empire and cause their wheels once more to 
roll over the streets of Paris. 

I found time to make another excursion out of the 
city to Sevres. The morning had been spent with some 
friends in the Louvre. We were so completely over- 
whelmed by what was literally miles of painted canvas 
covering the walls of the almost innumerable rooms, that 
we gave up at a glance all hope of doing anything like 
justice to the most famous of European galleries. We 
decided simply to walk through the galleries, merely to 
form a general impression of the place, but when we 
found that, according to the guide-book, such a walk 
would take at least four hours, we changed our plan and 
went as far and saw as much as we could without any 
plan whatever. All who remember their feelings when 
they sat down to their first New England thanksgiving 
dinner, and saw what they were expected, and what they 
knew they ought and would like to do, will understand 
without further description how we felt that day, as we 
wandered up and down for an hour or so before the 
rarest of artistic tit-bits. At last in despair at our failure 
to " do " the Louvre, we started for Sevres, to whoso 



From London to Paris. 31 

sights we thought our time and capacities better adapted. 
We took one of the Httle steamers, of which there are so 
many on the Seine, and as we shot along between its 
embankments of cut stone, we caught now and then a 
ghmpse of some famous building or monument. From 
the pier where we embarked we could just see the tops 
of the two towers of Notre Dame, in which the Thiers 
memorial service was to be held the next day, and in 
which, not a century ago, a woman was worshipped as the 
goddess of reason by the leaders of the revolution, who 
had just before declared, like the man of whom David 
tells us, '' There is no God." Very soon we came in sight 
of the gilded dome of the Hotel des Invalides, established 
by Napoleon, as a home for superannuated soldiers of 
France, better known as the magnificent tomb of the 
hero of Austerlitz and Marengo and Jena, whose last 
wish, expressed when broken-hearted he lay on a cot — 
his death-bed — aj: St. Helena, '' Bury me in France in the 
midst of the people whom I have loved," has been thus 
magnificently remembered by the nation, for whose ex- 
altation and degradation he did so much. Now we sweep 
under a bridge — marked as they all are with a great N. 
by Napoleon HI. — on one side of which rise the stately 
front and high towers of the Trocadero ; on the other, 
the enormous main building of the exposition, with many 
smaller ones clustered around it. 

Here we pass the walls of Paris, over which, into the 
very heart of the city, the Prussians threw their shells. 
But it may be doubted if in all the history of wars there 
has ever been before a siege conducted — if we may use 
the word — with such politeness as the siege of Paris. 



32 Saunterings in Europe. 

Not from the Germans, but from her own commune, did 
she receive the scars with which her fair face is still mar- 
red. After you leave Paris there are but few objects of 
interest along the banks of the Seine, till you reach 
Sevres. Here we found a restaurant, which we will always 
remember, not for the elegance of its table, but for the 
enormous magnitude of its bill, and the factory which 
has made Sevres a household word all the world over. 
While I should scarcely be willing to recommend either 
of my companions as authorities on the Louvre and its 
paintings, I have no hesitation whatever in expressing 
my confidence in their judgment of Ceramics, for we 
" did " the Sevres work-shop in the most thorough way. 
We went into all the rooms, stuck our fingers into the 
clay, stood inside the oven where the baking is done — 
the fire was out — priced all the vases which we thought 
we would care to have, and felt, as we came out, that if 
the director should die at any time, we were perfectly 
fitted to step into his shoes. Not being fully satisfied 
with the day's sight-seeing, as soon as we had returned 
to the Place de la Concorde we took a carriage — and 
they are almost as cheap in Paris as New York street cars 
— and drove over to the square in front of the Hotel des 
Invalides, where a number of buildings had been erected 
for an international horse fair. Probably with the desire 
not to forget what they had seen at Sevres, my clerical 
friend and his wife declined to enter this " side show," as 
they somewhat irreverently named it, but the son and 
heir of the household being like myself troubled by no 
such fear, became my companion, and we started to- 
gether to look at some of the finest horse-flesh in Europe. 



From London to Paris. 33 

We started together, but any one who knows the active 
disposition of the young man — a paternal inheritance — 
will scarcely need to be told that it was only for a few 
moments that we kept together. I was explaining to 
him, in what I thought a very interesting way, that a 
beautiful horse before us belonged to an English noble- 
man, and was worth fully as much as a small silver mine, 
when, either because of the indefiniteness of the compari- 
son or from the fact that the horse was so blanketed that 
nothing but his hoofs and the tips of his ears were visi- 
ble, this young representative of Brooklyn Presbyterian- 
ism, having decided to split and form a self-governed 
corporation for a while, suddenly disappeared. I 
looked up and down, walked up and down, whistled a 
few bars of " The Star-Spangled Banner," and ^' My 
Country, 'tis of Thee," but with no result except to 
draw upon myself the surprised looks of French horse 
jockeys and an unpleasant professional glance from a 
military-looking policeman. Horses worth from one to 
twenty thousand dollars were passed by unnoticed. 
Visions of what my reception would be at the gate 
when I should return alone, of a French Charley Ross 
case, of the indignation with which the news would be 
heard in Brooklyn ; these and not the shapely forms of 
noble steeds held my attention as I slowly worked my 
way back to the entrance. I had one hope. I knew 
that modern American boys have a reputation for smart- 
ness. It might be that this particular youth, though 
reared under the ministerial roof, was possessed of a fair 
share of the wisdom so often claimed as the exclusive 
property of the children of darkness. 1 was within a 
2* 



34 Saunterings in Europe. 

few feet of the gate, every step weakening this last re- 
Hance. Just outside I could see the bereaved parents 
waiting for me, when the object of my search appeared 
around the corner with just such an '' oh, here you are ! " 
as if I had been the lost boy. I said farewell to my 
friends under the shadow of the church of the Madeleine, 
and as I saw them turn away I felt homesick for New 
York. 



CHAPTER V. 

A SUNDAY IN PARIS. 

The French ^^ Dimanche" — Romish Churches — St. Au- 
gtisiine — The Madeleine — A Protestant Chwrh — The 
American Chapel — Notre Dame — Memories of St. Bar- 
tholomewi's Day — The Scotch Mission. 

THE contrast between London and Paris is greatest 
on the Sabbath-day. In the EngHsh metropolis 
there is stillness like that of a New England village. In 
the French capital the streets are filled from morning 
till night with a crowd like that in a New England vil- 
lage on election day or Fourth of July, though more 
refined in its appearance, with its veneering of Parisian 
culture. The church bells ring as loudly and as sweetly 
as in the great city across the channel, but the crowd 
sweeps by their open doors toward the Bois de Bologne 
or Versailles. Gangs of workingmen in the picturesque 
blouse, carrying tools and little lunch-pails in their hands, 
hurry to their labor as on other days. The French 
Government says to its employes, " Seven days shall you 
labor and do all your work." Even the elections take 
place on Sunday. Great fetes are reserved, like funerals 
in the country, for the Sabbath. The Exhibition keeps 
its most dazzling attractions for Dimanche. We may 

(35) 



36 Saunterings in Europe. 

judge something of what Sunday must have been in 
Paris fifty or a hundred years ago, from the universal 
testimony that the observance of the day is incomparably 
better now than then. At that time all the shops stood 
wide open from morning till night. Now those that are 
closed are not exceptional. They are a large majority. 

Before beginning the real pleasures of the day, many 
of the Parisians go to the early morning service, held 
usually at about nine o'clock. The more famous Rom- 
ish churches are then well filled. I went to two of these, 
first to the Church of St. Augustine in the northern part 
of the city. If not one of the largest, it is one of the 
most beautiful churches in Paris. Cut deep in the arched 
stones at the entrance were the three words " Libert6, 
Egalite, Fraternite," for the Republic has pushed its 
way through the iron gates, and written this, its some- 
what hackneyed and pretentious motto, on all the more 
important churches. The highly ornamented interior 
was already nearly filled by an apparently devout as- 
semblage. Whether the musical service was completed, 
or was to come later, I could not tell, but to my great 
surprise I heard, during the half hour or more spent 
there, not a note from voice or instrument. One of a 
number of priests present read from the pulpit what I 
supposed to be certain announcements of other services 
and confessional hours, and another preached a short ser- 
mon on the life of St. Augustine. 

As I went toward the Church of the Madeleine — 
among the most famous, and judged to be externally 
the most beautiful, in Paris — the streets were beginning 
to take on their holiday aspect. A few of the pedes- 



A Sunday in Paris. 37 

trians carried prayer-books, but a far larger number had 
lunch-baskets and shawls, and the other necessaries for 
a day in the country. A few minutes brought me in sight 
of a great pile of stone, shaped like a mausoleum, sur- 
rounded by rows of columns. No one who has ever 
seen a picture of it will have need to ask its name. 
Such columns and statues, and doors of bronze, can 
belong to none other than the famous building begun 
by Louis XV. in 1764, but completed neither by him- 
self nor Louis XVL, though they spent more than 
twenty years of work and more than a million of dol- 
lars upon it. 

The revolution of 1789, which brought Louis and his 
queenly wife, Marie Antoinette, to the guillotine, put 
an end for the time to all church erection, whether Cath- 
olic or Protestant. Twenty years later, when Napoleon 
was master not only of Paris and France, but of nearly 
all continental Europe, he determined to make the Made- 
leine what he then hoped soon to make the whole world 
— a temple of glory dedicated to himself. He could 
answer the proverb, " Man proposes, but God disposes," 
with " I propose and dispose, too " : but he could not 
escape the dark disasters which, within four years, were 
to transform the proud Conqueror into a defeated Gen- 
eral and lonely prisoner. The temple of glory was 
never dedicated : for he who was to have been its 
god, found none now so poor to do him reverence. 
Again, in 181 5, the work was renewed by a King, 
Louis XVIIL He also intended it as a memorial, but 
with less egotism than Napoleon. He was to consecrate 
it as an honorary chapel to Louis XVL and Marie An- 



38 Saunterings in Europe. 

toinette. But another revolutionary spasm seized the 
people, and in the wreck Louis saw all his plans and 
hopes swept away. It remained for Louis Philippe to 
complete this structure, whose entire cost was over $2,000,- 
000, and which serves equally the purposes of a church 
and a monument to mark the ebb and flow of one of 
the most stormy periods of French history. 

Where is there another church that can claim so many 
renowned names among its builders ? The Madeleine is 
always full ; for strangers, whether Protestant, Catholic, 
or Atheistic, consider it one of the sights of Paris not 
to be passed by. When I entered that Sabbath morn- 
ing, both men and women were standing in the aisles. 
Many of 'them had prayer-books, with whose help they 
followed the service with at least an appearance of de- 
votion. Around the church were little recesses called 
chapels, each with its cross and candles and patron saint. 
In one of these, only a few feet from where I stood, a 
priest, with highly-ornamented robes, assisted by two 
boys in similar vestments, was performing a service, 
which looked to me strange and unmeaning and utterly 
void of spirituality ; but as I did not know of what the 
ringing of bells, the swinging of incense, and the wash- 
ing of hands were intended to be symbolical, I felt I 
had no right, in my ignorance, to criticise and condemn. 

Passing out through the great doors (said to be the 
largest in the world, next to those of St. Peter's at 
Rome), and between the beautiful Corinthian columns, I 
turned my face toward a much more modest building, 
where I was sure a service was about to begin in which 
I would take a deeper interest. Not very far from the 



A Sunday in Paris. 39 

Champs Elys6es, in the Rue de Berri, is a plain Gothic 
building, now well known in Paris as the American 
Chapel. When I entered, two things surprised me — the 
beauty of the interior, plain indeed contrasted with the 
gorgeousness of the Madeleine ; and the large and re- 
markably intelligent congregation which had gathered 
there. 

One needs to travel only a few weeks on the Conti- 
nent to associate a service in English with the English 
service of the Established Church. In all the larger 
towns of Switzerland and Germany its chapels are opened 
at least during the summer months. Here and there 
you may find a Scotch chapel, but it is exceptional. 
However much you may enjoy the Church of England 
service, it is with a feeling of great delight that many 
Americans who have been away from their own Church for 
months, find, on entering the gay French capital, a place 
so delightfully homelike as this chapel established by 
the Evangelical Alliance. It is an ever-changing con- 
gregation which meets there from Sabbath to Sabbath, 
but it is always large and most interesting. 

In the afternoon I went to the most famous ecclesias- 
tical edifice in Paris, the Cathedral of Notre Dame. It 
took years to build the Madeleine, but it took centuries 
to build Notre Dame. Begun by a pope of Rome, Alex- 
ander III., in 1 160, one of the dark Middle Ages, it was 
completed only a hundred years before the blows of 
Luther's hammer, as he nailed his Theses to the door of 
the Schlosskirche in Wittemberg, shook the foundations 
of this and every Romish church in Europe. Victor 
Hugo has given it the fascination which genius imparts 



40 Saunterings in Europe. 

to every spot it touches. Many who walk up and down 
these long aisles see only the Notre Dame of his story ; 
but you can scarcely tear out a page from its history 
upon which something startling is not written. The great 
square in front of these towers was filled in 1792 
by a seething, raging mass of infuriated revolutionists. 
Through these doors swept that procession, unique in the 
history of civilized nations, at whose head a woman, des- 
titute of character, was carried like a heroine to the altar, 
where she was worshipped as a goddess. These are the 
pillars around which the mob piled benches covered with 
oil. Here and there still are some of the marks of the 
flames, which were more pitiful than the maddened hu- 
man beings who lighted them. It was here, too, that 
the young Lieutenant from Corsica, who had dazzled 
himself, as he had dazzled all men, by his splendid suc- 
cesses, was crowned as the successor of Charlemagne 
and Louis XIV. Without a drop of royal blood 
in his veins, but with a marvellous brain and heart, he 
could not only push kings from their thrones, but could 
seat himself on the throne of France. Here Napoleon 
III., the nephew of this uncle, was married to Eugenie; 
here, with the greatest pomp, the Prince Imperial was 
baptized. As we went out we saw that the walls were 
covered with the heaviest velvet and crape, as if to honor 
some royal personage. But no ; these last twenty-five 
years have wrought as great changes in France as almost 
any other quarter of a century in her history. Napoleon 
III. lies in an unknown grave ; Eugenie and her son are 
wanderers. Notre Dame is shrouded in mourning for 
the President of the Republic which rose on the ruins of 



A Sunday in Paris. 41 

Napoleon's Empire. There is a great white '' T." in- 
wrought on the black cloth : for the nation is to com- 
memorate here, on one of the earlier days of this very 
week, the memory and the services of the famous historian 
and republican, Adolph Thiers. These gray walls may 
witness changes equally great and startling in the next 
twenty-five years. 

As the crowd passed through the nave into the choir, 
we followed, thinking that the afternoon service was. 
probably being held there, on account of the decoration 
in the church. We were not mistaken, for as we drew 
nearer we could hear the exquisite music which rose 
softly toward the vaulted roof. I had supposed that all 
Romish churches were free ; that only Protestants had 
adopted the custom of rented pews ; but here, in the 
great Cathedral of Paris, standing-room only was free. 
If you would sit, you must first hire a chair — a custom 
which strikes one at first more unpleasantly than the 
regular renting of seats. This may have been one of the 
reasons why in the large congregation the working classes 
were but poorly represented. They could not afford to 
pay for a seat, and they were too proud to stand. We 
were too late for anything but the closing parts of the 
service. These were mostly musical. A solo was sung 
by a fine bass voice, and a choral with the accompani- 
ment of violins and harps. 

On our way home we passed an edifice upon which 
no Protestant can look without some emotion. It is a 
little church, facing the Louvre. It is old — old enough 
to have been pillaged by the Normans nearly a thou- 
sand years ago. It was used for centuries as the royal 



42 Saunterings in Europe. 

chapel, but all other interest which might attach to it 
is swallowed up in the intenser interest which it awakens 
by the part it played in the horrible massacre of St. 
Bartholomew's day. It was from that dark old belfry 
the signal was given for the beginning of one of the 
blackest deeds of all history. In that terrible night, 
and the day which followed, more than 2,000 men and 
women, who bore the name of Huguenot — a name which 
all impartial historians now speak with reverence — were 
stabbed in their houses or on the street. The young 
King, the weak tool of his mother, Catharine de Medicis, 
was seen to fire upon the fugitives from his palace win- 
dow. Before the night of the 25th of August, 1572, 
closed this scene over which fiends might have wept, 
20,000 of the best citizens of France lay dead — among 
them, one of the purest and noblest characters in the 
history of that land, or of the world. Admiral Coligny. 
As you stand under that tower, and look and think, you 
will need to pray, or a bitterness like that of gall will 
be in your heart. Even from this blow Protestantism 
slowly rallied in France during the next twenty years, 
till in 1598 Henry IV., in the so-called Edict of Nantes, 
placed it, in a degree, under the protection of the laws. 
For the next fifty years the Huguenots were tolerated 
as a necessary evil. Then, says the historian Martin, 
" The Government of Louis XIV. began to act toward 
the Protestants as toward a victim which is entangled 
in a noose, which is drawn tighter and tighter till it 
strangles its prey." Though Henry's laws remained on 
the statute books, they were but little more than a nom- 
inal protection. The Huguenots were to be made Cath- 



A Sunday in Paris. 43 

olics, or to be driven out of the country. The names 
of Protestant famihes were given to the King, his Jesuit 
confessor, La Chaise, and his Minister of War, the Mar- 
quis de Lonvois. Soldiers were sent by order of the 
Government to be billeted upon these households for 
an indefinite time, or till conversion. 

In three years, through this steady pressure, it is said 
that 50,000 Protestant households were broken up and 
scattered all over Europe. This was only the prelude 
to an almost fatal blow. In 1685 Louis revoked the 
Edict of Nantes, the law of protection established by 
Henry. Scenes only less terrible than those of St. 
Bartholomew's day followed. Protestant churches were 
seized and confiscated. Protestant marriages were de- 
clared illegal. The lives of Protestants were not safe. 
Only the clergy were permitted to leave the country. 
Yet more than a quarter of a million, some of them the 
best mechanics and workmen in France, finding it im- 
possible longer to live in the land they loved, fled into 
Holland, Germany, and England. Multitudes who were 
forced to remain were so restricted, and through these 
restrictions so discouraged, that they added nothing to 
the wealth of the country. " Thus by one blow," says 
a careful writer, *' France was impoverished in reality, 
of the activity of more than a million men, and of the 
million that produced most." From that blow French 
Protestantism has never recovered. The vast bulk of 
the population to-day is either Catholic or infidel. But 
under the republic there is religious toleration, and to a 
very great extent religious liberty. Romanist as he was. 
Marshal McMahon had five members in his Cabinet of 



44 Saunterings in Europe. 

nine who are said to be Protestants. The most famous 
of his ministers, M. Waddington, is known everywhere 
as such. That the people of France are tired of the 
bondage in which they have so long been held by a 
priesthood, is acknowledged with great sorrow and 
anxiety by the Church of Rome herself. That they are 
ready and eager for the truth which Jesus came to make 
known, and through which He said the heart was to be 
made glad, has been most remarkably shown by a move- 
ment begun so lately and carried on so quietly that com- 
paratively few have yet heard of it. 

Horatius Bonar, whose name is almost as well known 
in America as on this side of the Atlantic, made a visit 
to Paris not very long ago, and on returning told in 
Edinburgh " The Story of Bellville and the Mission to 
the Ouvriers of Paris." He had been interested in the 
beginning of that work, some seven years ago, by a 
Scotch minister, the Rev. W. McAll, but, like every one 
else, he had grave doubts as to its success. He found, 
on his visit to Paris, twenty-two halls opened for prayer 
and preaching services many times during the week, 
some, like that of the Rue de Rivoli, every night. He 
was surprised, as every one is who visits these stations, 
at the numbers of those who attend, and the interest 
they manifest in the addresses delivered by Mr. McAll 
or some French pastor. I saw more workingmen in the 
meeting in the Rue de Rivoli than I had seen either in 
the Madeleine or the Notre Dame. Medals are abun- 
dant in America, and prized accordingly, but they are not 
so numerous in France, and when Mr. McAll's services 
were thus acknowledged by the great benevolent society 



A Sunday in Paris. 45 

of Paris, of which a large number of Roman CathoHcs are 
members, many began then to see the importance of a 
work which they had before ignored. Since then " The 
Society for Promoting Popular Instruction and Educa- 
tion" has bestowed upon him a similar honor. It was a 
surprise to me also to find how large are the sums which 
are annually contributed to carry on these missions. 
For the year 1877 there was collected in Great Britain 
and on the continent (America has as yet done but lit- 
tle, except through Dr. Hitchcock's chapel) the sum of 
$18,160. The city of Lyons has just sent a request for 
a station to be established there. Every wind sweeps 
the sparks still further. Who can say what blessings 
God may bestow on France through this Scotch mis- 
sion in which all Christian people are now becoming 
interested ? 

The fierce hatred which so long made France and Ger- 
many but great battle-fields, to be trampled by Catho- 
lic and Protestant armies, has shrivelled like some old, 
fabled demon, at the dawning of the light which covers 
all Europe in the last quarter of this nineteenth century. 
There may be fewer prayers upon the lips, but there are 
also fewer curses hurled upon the heads of Churchman or 
Dissenter, than a hundred years ago. The non-essentials 
of the Christian faith no longer excite bitter passion and 
bloodshed. But those twenty-two mission stations with- 
in the walls of Paris are so many voices crying out that in 
France, as everywhere, men are still perplexed by " the 
obstinate questionings of invisible things," and that they 
will gladly listen to those messengers who come to tell 
them lovingly of Jesus, the Truth. 



CHAPTER VI. 

A HALF-HOUR IN PARIS WITH MR. GLADSTONE. 

The Study of Italian — Dante — Modern Greek — Religious 
Liberty in Greece — The Greek Church — The Movements 
toward Rome and Agnosticism — The Kind of Men 
Needed for the Ministry. 

THROUGH the kindness of a friend in London, I 
met Mr. Gladstone, some months ago, at a dinner 
given there to Archbishop Trench, of Dubhn. As he was 
prevented from replying to a question concerning one of 
the great religious movements of the present century, he 
was so good as to say that, if I would write him more 
fully of two or three points, he would give his opinion 
by letter. Much to my surprise, the next day after my 
note was sent, his complete and most satisfactory answer 
was received. I had not seen him from that time till I 
had the pleasure of meeting him here, a day or two ago ; 
but he has one of those remarkable memories that never 
lose their hold either of names or faces. Something of 
his immense popularity may be due to this ; for very few 
men are entirely proof against the subtle flattery of be- 
ing called by name by a great man, and remembered, 
to a certain extent, as old friends. 

When I told him, in answer to his question as to 
(46) 



A Half-Hour with Mr. Gladstone. 47 

what I was doing in Paris, that I was attempting to get 
enough ItaHan to help me out in a southern tour, he 
said : " I am always glad to hear of any one studying 
that language. It is too much neglected by our English- 
speaking people. It is one of the most fascinating of the 
European tongues, very easy at the outstart. One can 
easily get enough for travelling purposes ; but to know it 
and use it scientifically, is the work of years. Its litera- 
ture is most rich. I have here," he said, "one of the latest 
and probably the best editions of Dante. You might not 
care for so full a commentary on the text, but no one 
now can read Dante without notes, as many of his allu- 
sions are local and temporary. I have never made use 
of it," he continued, when modern Greek was mentioned, 
" for it is an exceedingly difficult language to speak, how- 
ever thoroughly one may have studied Sophocles, Euripi- 
des, and Homer. I could not read," he added, " a line 
of modern Greek without a great effort to give to each 
word its proper accentuation, the pronunciation of the 
modern is so entirely different from the ancient. My 
own studies," he went on, in answer to a question, "have 
been continued, to a degree, all through my political life ; 
but they have been largely confined to Homeric litera- 
ture, to the neglect, I fear, of later important works." 

Concerning religious liberty in Greece, which is now 
creating some discussion among the leading European 
powers, he said : " I am not in favor of free proselytism 
among members of the Greek Church — though, of course, 
all restriction by law should be abolished ; but it is a very 
serious thing to destroy the unity of a communion. The 
Greek Church is not beyond hope. The effort should be 



48 Saunterings in Europe. 

made for reform within it." I could not help being re- 
minded by this of the energetic attempt made, not long 
ago, to unite the English and Greek Churches. Mr. Glad- 
stone, I should judge from the tone of his remarks, would 
approve of it, and appears to take a much more favora- 
ble view of the purity of the Greek Church than Dean 
Stanley, who says that such a union is absolutely im- 
practicable. " With the Roman Church," continued Mr. 
Gladstone, " the problem is a very different one. It is, 
perhaps, impossible for us to work in harmony with an 
ecclesiastical body which demands, as the first essential 
for membership in its communion, the surrender of in- 
tellectual freedom and the acceptance of such a philo- 
sophical and theological absurdity as the dogma of Papal 
Infallibility. The Romish Church also locks up the Bible 
from laymen, which the Greek Church does not. But," 
he went on, " I am by no means confident of very great 
success in any attempt to transplant in this century the 
growth of the sixteenth in those lands which refused at 
that time to accept it. All our confessions were the 
product of the great reformatory movement which origi- 
nated in Germany, and are adapted specially to the times 
and the phases of thought which then prevailed. What 
right have we to expect that, in a very different age and 
under greatly changed conditions, the results of that 
movement can be grafted into a stock that has always 
vigorously resisted any such effort ? " 

To the question if the excessive adaptation of old 
faiths to new conditions was so weakening the hold, 
which Protestants once had on the Bible and creeds as 
to cause in England two currents, one setting toward 



A Half-Hour with Mr. Gladstone. 49 

Rome and the other toward entire skepticism, Mr. Glad- 
stone answered : " The movement toward Rome has 
lost all real force, I think. Converts are made, of 
course, every year ; some of high rank, but none of 
high intellectual culture. Since Manning and Newman 
went over, no one of any great mental power has be- 
come a pervert. Regarding the other movement, it is 
impossible to speak so positively. There is a good deal 
of skepticism in England ; but I hope it is more an epi- 
demic than a chronic disease." To my expression of 
surprise at having found Herbert Spencer's works much 
less known in England than in America, he said : '' Mr. 
Spencer is a very brilliant writer and a man for whom per- 
sonally I have great respect ; but I have a different feel- 
ing toward his agnostic arguments. What he says about 
the absolute unknowability of God seems to me only 
metaphysical quibbling. All our knowledge is, of 
course, merely partial — if we should live together 
twenty years, we would know each other but imper- 
fectly ; yet such a knowledge of men is sufficient for 
guidance in our daily affairs. The finite certainly can 
know God only in a very limited degree ; and yet that 
knowledge is ample for love, obedience, worship. As 
to that phase of skepticism which has found its leaders 
in such famous students of natural science as Huxley 
and Tyndall, I feel no apprehensions whatever. There 
is even now, I think, a tendency on their part toward a 
modification of some of their most extreme statements. 
All this will right itself, I am sure, in the end. A good 
many excrescences have fastened upon the Church, 
which must be rubbed off. The process will be an un- 
3 



50 Saunterings in Europe. 

pleasant one, no matter by whom this is done ; but the 
Hfe of the Church will be fuller aud healthier for it in 
the end." 

When I said that in America we felt a great debt to him 
for his defence of so many vital truths, he answered : " I 
should consider it one of the highest honors of my life 
if I have been able in any way to ease the labors of the 
Church. Better times are before us ; but every man, I 
think, should do what he can to relieve the present strain." 
^' Yes," he said, '' perhaps it is true, as you suggest, that 
the words of a layman sometimes have more weight, be- 
cause they are such, than those of a cleric. We natu- 
rally expect certain lines of argument from the pulpit ; 
but I should look with great sorrow upon any loss of in- 
fluence by the clergy. No Church can stand whose 
priests or ministers do not possess the highest respect 
of the people. I would be glad to see the very best 
men in England taking orders. If there is any sign of 
dissolution in the Church of Rome, it is, perhaps, the 
inferiority of her priesthood. Her priests come largely 
from the lower classes, and are usually men of very mod- 
erate ability. Better workmen than these are needed to 
build in our times." 



CHAPTER VII. 

INTO SWITZERLAND.* 

Fair Geneva — Rousseau's Island — Church and House of 
Calvin — Chamouni — Mt. Blanc — A Long Walk — Aler 
de Glace — Mauvais Pas — Tete Noire — Martigny. 

ENGLAND glories in her hawthorn hedges, but 
France glories in her vineyards bounded only by 
ocean and river and mountain. You ride for hours from 
Paris to Geneva, between the vine-clad hills of poets and 
story-tellers. Every available slope has been tilled and 
planted. Where the Government has permitted, the 
forests have been cut away. On the steeper hills, hun- 
dreds of little terraces have been built that the peasant's 
farm might not be washed into the valley by some 
spring shower. France waits till the grape harvest to 
count her wealth. She calls herself poor when it is 
meagre. She feels rich, though she may not call her- 
self so, when it is abundant. The train plunges on 
through French vineyards and Swiss gorges toward 
Geneva. Now and then you catch a momentary 
glimpse of some snow-capped peak. You forget the 
jolting and tossing which made sleep difficult, and 
twisted your dreams into forms most weird and strange. 
You are in Switzerland. Are not these Swiss fields and 

(51) 



52 Saunterings in Europe. 

brooks and mountains and clouds ? Is not this Swiss air 
that comes through the open window, reminding you by 
its touch of the glacier over whose bosom it swept not 
an hour ago ? You become enthusiastic. You feel like 
shaking hands with the guard who throws open the door 
and shouts — while he looks as if he knew you were from 
America and had never been here before — " Geneve, 
Geneve." You are ready to give a centime — it takes 
five to make a cent — to all the little boys that fill the 
streets. For ten minutes you rattle over the pavement, 
then swing round a corner, and there before you, so near 
that you can hear the low plash of the water against 
the stone banks, is the largest of all the Swiss lakes. 

The scene is not unlike a Venetian picture. For a 
moment you see only water and houses, and crafts with 
strange-looking sails^. This bay might be the Adriatic. 
These houses Venetian villas. These vessels Italian 
feluccas. But you lift your eyes above the spires of 
the churches, above the ranges of hills that seem ready 
to press the town into the lake, upon a vision of beauty 
of which you have read a hundred times. The sun has 
swept away the clouds that covered valley and mount- 
ains all the morning. The atmosphere is as pure as the 
waters of the lake. Forty miles away — it looks scarcely 
a tenth the distance — is a mass of snow and ice covered 
with a soft crimson light. It is Mont Blanc, majestic, 
lordly, indescribably magnificent. Mountain, city, lake ! 
This is not Italy. This is Switzerland. This is Geneva. 
The two portions of the town are united by a number of 
bridges, but all sight-seers cross the one from which the 
Island of Rousseau is reached. Here stands a statue of 



Into Switzerland. 53 

the man whose life was as warped and wild as his theories. 
His genius was unmistakably great. For this, Geneva 
preserves with great pride and care the house in which 
he was born ; rears to him a statue on an island dedi- 
cated to him ; places his name among the greatest of 
her heroes ; but should Rousseau return to-day with 
theories and life unmodified, it may be doubted if the 
city so proud of his fame would give him anything but 
the coldest of welcomes. It is not very far from 
Rousseau's Island to the church and house of John 
Calvin. 

Two hundred years before " the mad philosopher," as 
men have called Rousseau, came into a world which he 
completely misunderstood, and which perhaps com- 
pletely misunderstood him, Calvin was driven from 
Noyon, in France, his birthplace and home, on account 
of his religious belief. He came to Geneva as a refugee. 
He found there a little city, which by the instrumental- 
ity of Farrel had freed itself from the tyranny of Rome. 
He was urged to remain, for a time at least, to aid in 
the completion of the work most auspiciously begun. 
So, for more than twenty years the French refugee made 
the Swiss town his home. He preached almost every 
day from the cathedral pulpit of St. Pierre, or in one of 
the Geneva churches. His character was strong, per- 
haps stern. He dwelt most often on the infinite holi- 
ness and justice of the Divine Father. His words were 
like thunderbolts, and for a time Geneva was the purest 
of cities. Whatever view we may take of his life and 
teachings, certainly they will compare very favorably 
with the lives and teachings of the two equally famous 



54 Saunterings in Europe. 

citizens of Geneva, Voltaire and Rousseau. It is a ride 
of some forty-nine miles from Geneva to Chamouni, but 
the road is so perfect — usually better than anything in 
or around New York, in no place anything like as bad 
as Central Park in spring — that the miles slip quickly 
behind the six horses and great wheels of the French 
diligence. We rode some hours in the shadows of the 
hills whose tops were covered with the mist which the 
sun had not yet driven away. Crowds of little boys and 
girls ran at our side begging in very good French, which 
startled us at first, as we had thought begging was al- 
ways done in English or Irish. A few centimes thrown 
among them, either in the dust or the long, wet grass, 
created a degree of excitement and an amount of motion 
which rightly applied ought certainly to have been worth 
as many francs. The postillion cracked his whip so 
loudly that the echoes came back from the hills, so often 
that every hour, with the six lines pressed between his 
knees, the thick whip-stock between his teeth, a knife in 
one hand, and a piece of twisted cord in the other, a new 
snapper was manufactured and looped into the long 
lash. We had stood on a high hill at Geneva and 
watched the mingling of the "\yaters from the Rhone 
and the Arve ; we saw with wonder — though who has 
not heard of it a hundred times? — the pure blue Rhone 
leaping from the lake, crowding against the bank as if 
'oathing the yellow, muddy Arve which seeks so per- 
sistently to join its life with that of its fairer neighbor, 
and now we rode for miles by this same Arve which we 
had watched striving, at last with success, to plunge 
itself into the Rhone. Every snap of the whip, every 



Into Switzerland. 55 

turn of the huge wheels, was bringing us nearer its 
course, of which Bryant once wrote : 

" Not from the sands or cloven rocks, 
Thou rapid Arve ! thy waters flow ; 
Nor earth, within her bosom, locks 
Thy dark unfathomed wells below. 
Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream 
Begins to move and murmur first 
Where ice peaks feel the noonday beam, 
Or rain-storms on the glacier burst." 

When we stopped at St. Martins for a rest of half 
an hour, we had our first near view of Mont Blanc. 
Its great white face and forehead gilded with the sun, 
rose so directly before us, so distinctly outlined, that it 
seemed as if we might easily shoot a rifle-ball against It. 
Distances are even more deceptive among great hills 
than on the sea. We were forced to this conclusion 
when the driver, hotel-keeper, and Baedeker all agreed 
in saying that Mont Blanc is twelve miles from St. 
Martins. What we found to be the most tiresome 
part of our journey was still before us, though here we 
were in sight of the end. The road soon began to twist 
and turn as if writhing itself over the mountain like 
some old sea-serpent unused to this kind of travelling. 
Yet with all its windings around the corners of steep 
cliffs over the boiling Arve, and through dark tunnels, 
it preserved its smoothness. With what an effort this 
had been done we could see everywhere, in the great 
walls of stone often a hundred feet high, built up from 
the valley, in the bridges constructed as solidly as If for 
a railroad, in the piercings and cuttings of the mount- 



56 Saunterings in Europe. 

ains, which looked as if a thousand giants had beqi 
there with their hammers and drills. We can teach the 
French and Swiss many things, but they can teach us 
how to make roads. It was just at sunset that our pos- 
tillion, with a sharp cry to his leaders and a tremendous 
crack of the whip which threw all his other efforts into 
the shade, drew up before the doors of the hotel in 
Chamouni". Right above us, calm in his placidity, his 
feet bathed by the river, and his head covered with 
golden water by the setting sun, stood the mightiest of 
all the hills of Europe. 

" Mont Blanc is the monarch of Mountains, 
They crowned him long ago 
On a throne of light, with a robe of cloud, 
And a diadem of snow." 

Right regally he sits there on his throne. Multitudes 
even from free America lay their homage at his foot- 
stool, but he is as impassive as a Turk. If you are 
strong of limb, and heart, you may climb upon his huge 
round shoulders and mighty head, but one slip of the 
foot and he will lock you up for a thousand years in his 
bottomless prisons of snow and ice. We saw at Geneva 
a young American who had just returned from making 
the ascent of Mont Blanc. He assured us that a pres- 
entation to the court of this monarch is expensive in 
every way. The process requires three full days. On 
the first you ascend half way, and stay overnight in the 
king's ante-chamber, the Grand Mulct, an insignificant 
hut visible from Chamouni. The second, if well used, 
will bring you to the throne itself, where you stay about 



Into Switzerland. 57 

the same length of time as at most court presentations. 
That night you spend again in the ante-chamber, return- 
ing, if you are so fortunate as ever to return, the follow- 
ing afternoon to the valley. For this our young Ameri- 
can friend had paid $100, the usual price for the guides 
and food. He had also frozen one of his thumbs so badly 
that at first amputation seemed necessary, though it 
proved not to be so severe a case as the physician had 
thought ; yet this, with other discomforts and expenses, 
caused him to advise us not to be presented. We were 
very willing to accept this advice, as we had already made 
up our minds not to go. We had planned a somewhat 
different excursion, and at six o'clock the following morn- 
ing we three — two New York gentlemen and myself — with 
knapsacks on our backs and Alpine stocks in our hands, 
started from Chamouni for a tramp of forty miles. I 
thought that my friends, being pampered city men, 
would soon give out, and then we should take mules 
and ride as other people do, but I learned some things 
that day that I had not known before. As we walked 
rapidly along through the little village, we looked back 
every few m.oments at this monarch from whose realm 
we were fleeing. His face was more sombre than in the 
sunset, or the moonlight of the previous night. He 
looked as men, perhaps even kings, are wont to do early 
in the morning, but in a few moments the scene was 
transformed. The mightiest monarch of all, whom so 
many peoples have worshipped as a god, was coming 
over the fair fields of Italy to visit once more these hills 
and valleys. Mont Blanc was waiting with his head 
uncovered save by his white locks. No courtier's face 
3* 



58 Saunterings in Europe. 

ever shone so brightly at the presence of his sovereign 
as the broad gray face of Mt. Blanc that morning, 
when first touched by the September sun. The yellow 
light rested for a moment on the highest prominence, 
then spread slowly as if, an old Greek would have said, 
the unused golden nectar of his gods was being poured 
out on the m.ountain's top by celestial lackeys. In half 
an hour every peak was glowing like burnished silver, 
while the valley was still enswathed in mist and shadows. 
For more than an hour we walked at a tremendous pace 
up the sides of Montanvert. When half that time was 
passed I would have given my letter of credit for a five 
minutes' rest, but it was not for a Western man to be the 
first to make such a proposition, and we walked on, 
overtaking a party that had started long before with a 
guide, then another on mules, reaching the top the first 
arrivals of the day, in the best of spirits and with a sup- 
ply of breath which had come most mysteriously and 
opportunely. There before us was the Mer de Glace, 
which we were to cross. Should a night of coldness so 
intense as far to surpass all in the memory of that man 
who never dies, " the oldest inhabitant," suddenly, in- 
stantly congeal into a solid mass Niagara river and falls, 
you would then have a Mer de Glace, an exact counter- 
part of that which has stood for centuries almost motion- 
less, above the Valley of Chamouni. The billows of 
ice have piled themselves into great ridges, as they have 
been pushed into the gorge by some irresistible power. 
Crevices, a score of feet wide, perhaps a thousand feet 
deep, yawn at your side, as with slow pace and careful 
step and firm grip on the Alpine stock, whose sharpened 



Into Switzerland. 59 

iron point rings on the ice, you cross this magnificent 
monstrosity. On the opposite cliff, before returning to 
the valley, you must descend the famous Mauvais Pas 
— bad pass. We had been told that it was absolutely 
nothing now, since an iron railing has been placed 
against the rocks, to which you can cling, and found, 
using the words in a somewhat different sense, that it 
was almost absolutely nothing, for it seemed for a mo- 
ment impossible to tread the narrow steps, often not 
more than six inches wide, running on the very edge of 
a dizzy precipice. The iron railing was a delusion, as 
well as a help. In some places it had been torn from 
the rock, and in others so loosened that as you leaned 
upon it your fingers received a far too friendly grip from 
the iron and stone. There are passes on Mt. Blanc said 
to be far worse, but we were quite satisfied with the bad- 
ness of this while we were slowly working our way over it. 
In three hours from the starting time we had reached 
the Chamouni Valley again. We were elated with our 
success. We had walked in three hours a distance for 
which the guides and guide-books allow four. Resting 
our knapsacks on top of the fence, — how well I learned 
that day to sympathize with the pack peddler, be he Jew 
or Gentile, — we consulted Baedeker for the route over the 
T^te Noire and started for the village of Argentiere at a 
pace which showed no diminution in rapidity. We were 
self-congratulatory and proud over what we had done. We 
knew " that the ride over the Tete Noire takes a whole 
day," but were we not walking ! had not our early morn- 
ing exercise given tone to muscle and nerve ! Our friends 
said we should be in Martigny for table d'hote at six 



6o Saunterings in Europe. 

o'clock, and I believed them at first, but the way through 
the valley and up the hills after we had left Argentiere 
was rough and hard. 

The sun was hot, oh, fearfully hot ! Our knapsacks 
slowly increased in weight till at last we thought like old 
Atlas the whole world was on our backs. We stopped 
for lunch at the half-way house, the Hotel de la Cascade 
Barberino, a beautiful name surely, but the most satis- 
factory thing we found there was a long bench, on which 
we threw our knapsacks and ourselves with an intense 
sigh of relief which even the presence of some ladies 
could not restrain. But we sighed again with less satis- 
faction, as one of the ladies said, in that sort of a whis- 
per which is the most audible of all the tones of the human 
voice, " Students ! " " Oh no ! " was the answer. Still 
more audible, " Too old ! " That was not the place for 
us, we felt, and in fifteen minutes we were on our way 
again. We had taken our last look at Mt. Blanc in his 
gorgeous splendor, at the glaciers which looked like 
white clotted blood pouring from the hearts and heads 
of the mountains. We had now before us only pines 
and wild brooks, and — we soon found — long steep hills. 
The pampered city young men showed no signs of 
weakening. The Western man showed none, but he 
knew in his heart that it was awfully hypocritical. On 
we went, passing everything, one-horse wagons, two- 
horse wagons, parties on foot and on mules, even the 
ladies in their carriage, who had so greatly overestimated 
our antiquity. On and on, past the Tete Noire house, 
where we did not even stop for breath, up a hill which 
kept lengthening itself out above us, like a sermon or a 



Into Switzerland. 6i 

letter which seems every moment about to end, but 
doesn't, till at last — but oh, what a strain of muscle be- 
fore that moment — at last, the top. We were repaid. 
At our feet lay Martigny, The eye swept over the 
whole valley of the Rhone. The sky was cloudless. 
From beneath us came the low tinkle of the bells of 
the cows pastured in the rich fields. By the roadside 
were the huts of the peasants in the midst of little clear- 
ings planted with the greatest care, harvested with an 
economy absolutely unknown in America, from which 
not an apple or a blade of grass escaped. Men and 
women in the miniature fields were hurrying at their 
work, for the sun had already begun to go down behind 
the mountains. We looked for a moment with admira- 
tion on the scene, tightened our knapsacks for the de- 
scent, and hurried on toward Martigny and the table 
d'hote. Alas, the illusiveness of hope ; we thought in an 
hour at the most we should be under the hospitable roof 
of the Hotel Clerc, but when we had rushed down the 
hill for more than an hour, Martigny seemed no nearer. 
The path we had taken, a short cut — called the old road 
— was covered with sharp loose stones. The soles of 
the only pair of Western shoes in the party gave out. 
Valley Forge and the shoeless soldiers whose torn feet 
stained the roads for miles around, were often thought 
of. But the pampered youths of the metropolis kept 
on with speed unabated. 

An hour more and yet another hour passed, and just 
as the clocks were striking six we entered the long paved 
street of Martigny. Twelve hours of steady walking 
had brought us over the forty miles, but they had filled 



62 Saunterings in Europe. 

every bone and muscle with cries for rest. We ate that 
night as the hungry eat, and slept as the sleepy sleep, 
and woke the next morning feeling far less weary than 
many a poor brain-worker after his weekly or Sunday 
labor. Martigny, small as it is, is comparatively well 
known as a starting-point for Alpine travellers. Through 
this town, seventy-eight years ago, Napoleon led his 
army over the Great St. Bernard, and from the Hospice 
received from the monks, bread and wine for his soldiers. 
The Hospice stands there still. Brave monks pass their 
lives among the eternal snows, and when worn out by 
their labors of love, come down to the white houses and 
green fields of Martigny to die. It is a hard, hard life 
— a life to which few are called, but how bright this 
world of ours would be if every house on mountain or 
plain, or city's boulevard, were a Hospice, where brave 
hearts pushing their way over the mountains could find 
refuge from storms and hunger, and every life were as 
full of helpfulness and unselfishness as the lives of the 
monks of St. Bernard. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

FROM VEVEY TO INTERLAKEN. 

The Castle of Chillon — A Glimpse of Freiburg — *^ Be- 
tzveen the Lakes " — In the spray of Staubbach — Swiss 
Lights and Scenes, 

ONE of the most charming spots in Switzerland is 
comparatively unknown to Americans. It is on 
the same lake as the town of Geneva, but at the other 
end. Villeneuve has been made famous by its nearness 
to the castle of Chillon, but Vevey is but little further 
a.way, and is incomparably more beautiful. There may 
have been something in the delightful atmosphere of 
rest which we drank in, as thirsty men drink water, all 
through the hours of the Sunday we spent there, after 
our hard walk over the Tete Noire ; but certain it is, that 
the name of no other Swiss town is more pleasant to re- 
call. In riding the short distance between Martigny 
and Vevey, we had swept rapidly by an exquisite water- 
fall that rushes over the high rocks by the side of the 
railroad. We had shot through clefts in the mountains, 
and had passed the little town of Maurice, in itself with- 
out special attractiveness ; but we looked out at the sta- 
tion, to offer for a moment our silent homage to the 
memory of the brave Roman legion that here suffered 

(63) 



64 Saunterings in Europe. 

martyrdo.!! for refusing to renounce for the old heathen 
mythology the new religion of Christ, which they had 
accepted. We caught but a glimpse of Chillon as we 
approached Vevey, but like all good pilgrims, we made 
a visit to this old castle. It proved to be interesting be- 
yond our expectation. This mass of stone, which Bon- 
nivard by his imprisonment, and Byron by his pen, have 
immortalized, rises majestically from a little island in 
the lake, only a short distance from the shore. 

" Lake Leman lies by Chillon's wall. 
A thousand feet in depth below, 
Its massy waters meet and flow." 

We crossed the bridge from the main-land, passed under 
the stone arch of the portcullis into what was, for me, 
the first castle within whose walls I had ever been. We 
joined the party of some ten or twelve standing in the 
court-yard with a guide who was waiting for an increase 
of numbers, with an eye to the Swiss coin, which would 
be the necessary resultant. He was both a philosopher 
and rhetorician in his way. His patois was effectual in 
arousing the interest of those who understood it, and 
the method he followed of leading us from the less to 
the more interesting halls and chambers, brought those 
of us who were relying mostly upon our guide-books 
gradually to the climax of interest. We saw the great 
banqueting hall hung with shields and lances, and 
trimmed with the flags of all the Swiss countries. We 
saw the hall of justice, where cruelty sat in the judges' 
chair, and tyranny condemned the innocent to torture 
and death. We saw the dungeon whose only furniture 



From Vevey to Interlaken. 65 

was the rack, and the boot, and the thumb-screw. We 
saw the chapel where the doomed wretches were mocked 
with a caricature of Christianity but Httle better than 
the demon-worship of savages. We saw the great rock 
on which victims were bound the last night they were to 
spend on earth, that courage might be weakened, and 
nerves shattered by sleepless hours of restless, painful 
tossing on this granite couch. We saw the dark pit 
lined with knives. Bodies of the dead and living were 
thrown in there, but only fragments shot out into the 
lake. The guide had reserved the most interesting room 
for the last. We descended a flight of heavy stone steps, 
a huge iron door was thrown open, and we stood on the 
spot of which Byron wrote : 

" Chillon, thy prison is a holy place 

And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod. 
Until his very steps have left a trace, 

Worn as if the cold pavement were a sod. 
By Bonnivard." 

We leaned against the pillar to which the old prior of 
St. Victor had been chained, and silently read the words 
as best we could in the dim light. Byron was no priest, 
but his marvellous genius has consecrated that dungeon 
as no priestly blessing ever could. It is a beautiful ride, 
even in a railway coach, along the shores of the lake from 
Vevey to Lausanne. There the road winds over the 
hill, from whose top one last view is caught. The train 
rushes through a tunnel, and when you come again 
into the light, the scene has lost so much of its pictur- 
esqueness that you are content to lean back from the 
window, and rest your eyes, tired with the intensity of 



66 Saunterings in Europe. 

attention. At Freiburg we went out on the platform 
of the car (this is allowable in Switzerland, or at least is 
possible, which is all that an American asks), and looked 
everywhere, if we might perhaps see the spires of the 
cathedral, the proud possessor of the famous organ which 
we had not time to hear. Having been successful in 
this, and also in catching a glimpse of the great suspen- 
sion bridge — it is only 150 feet shorter than that which 
crosses the Ohio at Cincinnati — we were ready to go on 
our way to Berne. This is the capital of the Swiss can- 
tons, but is known to travellers rather by its bears than 
from any political importance. Our stop here was so 
short, and we were so hungry, that we had only time to 
play the bear ourselves for a few moments, and then 
hurry on toward Thun and its beautiful lake. While the 
steamer was plowing her way through this pretty little 
sheet of water, some eleven miles long, the rain came 
down in splashes great enough to cool the ardor of the 
most persistent sight-seers. As we stood on deck under 
umbrellas we could see every now and then some beau- 
tiful villa more charming in its surroundings even than 
those along the Hudson. Once the snow-white mount- 
ains in the distance looked out upon us for an instant, 
and then sullenly wrapped themselves again in impene- 
trable folds of mist and cloud. On a bright day the sail 
over Lake Thun must be delightful. It was beautiful 
on that dark September day, but the cold rain made us 
welcome the change from the boat to the cars, and still 
more the end of the day's journey at Interlaken, where 
we very soon found ourselves. The names of places are 
often utterly meaningless. If I mistake not, we have in 



From Vevey to Interlaken. 67 

the States numberless " Lake Views " from which no 
water but mud-puddles is visible. But Interlaken is well 
named — between the lakes it is ; Thun lies in the giant's 
palm of one hand and Brienz in the outstretched fingers 
of the other. 

We went in the evening to the Kursaal, a great re- 
freshment hall, with a wide piazza, where a crowd of peo- 
ple from all over the world were taking their ices and 
coffee, or their wine and beer, and listening to the music 
of one of the best orchestras in Switzerland, whose serv- 
ices are remunerated by the involuntary contributions of 
all the guests of the hotel. It is almost a fairy-like scene, 
this Interlaken kursaal at night. You might think for a 
moment that some picture had broken from its frame to 
become for the time a reality. The beautiful hall, the 
exquisite music, the people chatting during the pauses 
in German and French, Italian and English ; the moon 
breaking now and then from the clouds and gilding for 
an instant with silver the peaks of the Jungfrau — if you 
have enjoyed all this the night before, you will not be- 
grudge in the morning the small additional tax which 
you will find in your hotel bill. If you have not enjoyed it, 
it is your own fault and you must pay just the same. It 
was at Interlaken that Fleming, the hero of Longfellow's 
romance of Hyperion, met the heroine of the story. It 
was on a rainy day spent in one of these hotels that he 
became hopelessly a captive. It was under the Staubbach 
Falls, if I remember rightly, that Fleming — who was 
none other than Longfellow himself — wove into a fanci- 
ful tale the real story of his own love, which the heroine 
of Hyperion rejects, but to which in reality the present 



68 Saunterings in Europe. 

Mrs. Longfellow gave a very different reception. Though 
all may not have such romantic remembrances of Inter- 
laken, this town, shut in by lakes and mountains, is a 
place which every one is loath to leave. We had but two 
nights and one day to spend there, and part of that day 
we were obliged to use for a walk to one of the most 
famous of the Swiss Falls, the Staubbach. The whole 
distance out and back was only about fifteen miles. This 
would be considered a good walk in America, but my 
New York friends looked upon it as only child's play 
after the passage of the Tete Noire. Carrying still — 
more for show than use, I fear — the good Alpine stocks 
which had served us so well on the Mer de Glace, we 
crossed the broad fields before the town, where trials 
of skill take place periodically between brawny Swiss 
peasants, who have thought and dreamed of little else 
for months. Passing the ruins of an old castle, which is 
not without its own legends of war, love, and glory, we 
were soon on the broad, smooth road to Lauterbrunnen, 
the village by the Staubbach. What we would call a 
brook, but what in Switzerland they call a river, dashes 
along by your side nearly the whole way. The road is 
often squeezed between the river's rocks covered with 
foam, and the mountain's rocks covered with moss. On a 
great boulder in a dark glen we read an inscription that, 
short as it was, told a long story of jealousy and revenge. 
It was on this spot that a nobleman, not many years ago, 
stabbed his own brother to the heart. These old pines 
perhaps have looked down on other deeds scarcely less 
terrible than this one chiselled on the stone ; but they 
give no sign. The earth is silent. Only the hate and 



From Vevey to Interlaken. 69 

murder which were in the heart of this fratricide will be 
read for ages to come. 

As we came out from the shadow of the tall trees, the 
clouds which had hung a thick veil all the morning 
around the Jungfrau, as if enviously hiding her beauty 
from our gaze, lost for a moment their power to conceal 
the treasure, and we looked full upon the fair face and 
brow of this coy Swiss maiden. Mont Blanc is more ma- 
jestic, but not more beautiful. In the valley of the 
Chamouni you look up with awe. From Lauterbrunnen 
you look up with admiration. If you were an idolater, 
with no God but nature, you would ask no fairer shrine 
than this upon which to lay your offerings. The Staub- 
bach Falls are the highest in Europe. Niagara, as far as 
height is concerned, is a pigmy beside them. The water 
leaps from a precipice a thousand feet above you, but it 
is only a large brook which takes this leap, and nothing 
but spray reaches the bed below. What Goethe says of 
it, is as true as it is poetical : 

" Stream from the high, 
Steep, rocky wall, 
The purest fount, 
In clouds of spray, 
Like silver dust 
It veils the rock 
In rainbow lines ; 
And dancing down 
With music soft, 
Is lost in air." 

If you are not too poetical and romantic to use an 
umbrella in such a place and for such a purpose, you can 
walk toward the rock till you are far under the mist, and 



70 Saunterings in Europe. 

encircled, should the day be bright, with countless rain- 
bows and innumerable sparkling gems. Nothing is easier 
than for Americans to laugh at the Staubbach ; to scout 
in its very presence its claim to be called a waterfall be- 
cause it is not a Niagara; but one might as well laugh 
at a humming-bird because it is not a condor. 

As we turned back toward Lauterbrunnen we saw ly- 
ing beside the road, a long, curious, hollow wooden pipe, 
which the veterans of the party recognized at once as one 
of the famous Alpine horns. I had never tried to blow 
on such an instrument, but when offered an unlimited 
number of francs to make any kind of a noise on it, I 
cheerfully accepted, through confidence in the ability of 
every American to succeed in blov/ing, if in nothing 
else. I decided without trouble on a number of pur- 
poses to which the earnings of my success were to be 
applied, and then grasped the mystic trumpet with the 
intention of sounding a blast which should be "worth 
ten thousand men." I drew in a breath so long and 
deep that it made me think of the little lad who was 
very tired in listening to a dull sermon, which at last he 
thought was over, but as he looked up to the pulpit he 
broke into a cry of despair, " Oh, ma, ma ! See, he's 
swelling up again." There were no little boys to cry as 
they saw me going through the process, but there were 
a number looking on, both large and small, who seemed 
to be laughing. When the vast amount of atmospheric 
force rushed through the narrow neck of the horn back 
again to its accustomed dwelling-place, instead of waken- 
ing soft and delicious echoes in the icy caverns of the 
Jungfrau, the Eiger, and the Monch, the only sound 



From Vevey to Interlaken. 71 

heard was a sigh of disgust from the man who blew, and 
a shout of triumphant satisfaction from the man who 
had so hberally risked his French gold. Seeing that I 
had no desire to repeat the experiment, a little Swiss 
lad, not more than three feet high, stepped out, blew 
himself up and exploded over the end of the horn. 
Ah, now the echoes on all these hills recognize a voice 
they know. Hear them, as from a dozen points they 
send back their answer ! The notes are so soft, so sweet, 
so ethereal, that one would not need to be very credulous 
to believe that they were the pleading tones of imprison- 
ed mountain spirits and nymphs aroused by the rough 
blast of the horn, and praying thus plaintively for some 
brave knight to come to their release. But we could 
not go, and the small boy, chuckling over the practical 
results of his explosion in the shape of silver coins lying 
in his palm, showed no intention of departing on such a 
chivalric mission. 

We had but a few moments left before starting 
back toward Interlaken. I improved the time by pay- 
ing a visit to one of the rightful possessors of these 
snow-covered mountains. I found him in a narrower 
reservation than that which New York State has as- 
signed to the Indians who were once the lords of the 
soil. In a little hut, between whose boards he could 
look out upon the very peaks over which in his youth 
he had roamed I found this child of the mountains, a 
beautiful chamois, whose great mild eyes looked into 
mine as if he hoped at last a deliverer had come from 
the great free land of the West, to break open the doors 



72 Saunterings in Europe. 

of his prison. I could only shake my head, for how- 
could I explain to him that he was worth much money 
to his captors ; that I myself had just given silver for 
the privilege of looking into his prison ; that even in the 
land from which I came, only a few years ago, we kept 
a whole race of human beings in a bondage worse than 
his ; that to-day multitudes there would sell themselves 
for much less than he was annually bringing to his master ! 
So I could not help him. He seemed to read it in my 
face, and slowly turned away to look out on the white 
mountains he loved. We took the walk back at the 
rapid gait which the anticipation of a good dinner has 
been known to produce even in those who ordinarily are 
slow of foot. The most enthusiastic pedestrian of the 
party, a member of the 7th Regiment of N. Y., grappled 
with a tall, long-limbed mountain climber, who was try- 
ing to pass us as if such raw Americans were to be 
ignored. After a hard pull of more than a mile, during 
which the result was exceedingly doubtful, our represen- 
tative drew slowly ahead, and the other man stopped for 
repairs under the shade of a tree. 

We went again to the Kursaal in the evening and 
found the scene not less fascinating than the night 
before, though the element of novelty was wanting. 
We walked along the main avenue of the town, bril- 
liant with its great hotels and shops and crowds of 
sight-seers. At the end of this street, a little way 
from the business part of the village, are the two 
most interesting buildings in the place, the old schloss, 
once used as a monastery, and the prison, once used as 



From Vevey to Interlaken. 



11 



a nunnery. It was a melancholy thing to see even a 
reasonless, soulless chamois kept from a life for which 
he longed, by a power from which he could not escape. 
But it was a far more saddening sight to look at the 
barred windows and stone cells where once men and 
women were shut up from a helpful human life by a con- 
ception of duty from which they could not break away. 



CHAPTER IX. 

FROM INTERLAKEN TO THE RHONE GLACIER. 

Mountain Paths — Swiss Horses — The Great Scheidegg — 
Our Guide — Handeck — The Grimsel Hospice — A Steep 
Road. 

IT is possible to ride in a railway carriage or diligence 
from one end of Switzerland to the other. You can 
see from your car windows, or from the high back of 
the ark-like structure on four wheels, some of the grand- 
est mountains, some of the most exquisite lakes and 
villages. But if you would look upon the treasures 
of beauty which Switzerland unveils only to those who 
are willing to show their devotion by wearied limbs and 
a sweat-moistened brow, you must turn away from rail- 
way car and diligence and private carriage, and trust 
yourself to the unyielding back of a mountain horse or 
mule. We had enjoyed our walk from Chamouni to 
Martigny so much, though that is a road over which 
carriages may safely drive, that we determined now to 
plunge into the heart of these hills, where the paths are 
too narrow for the smallest wagon, and too rough for 
the strongest wheels. Lucerne was our objective point, 
but instead of taking the usual route, and riding by 
diligence over the Brunig Pass, we decided, after enough 
(74) 



From Interlaken to the Rhone Glacier. 75 

consultation to have resulted in a Swiss revolution or 
the building of a new hotel at Interlaken, to take a 
wider sweep over the great Scheidegg to Meiringen, and 
across the Furca Pass to Andermatt and Altdorf. 

There is a carriage road from Interlaken to Grindelwald, 
of which we made use. Taking an early start on the day 
after our walk to the Staubbach, we rode three on one 
seat of a little carriage, which had two virtues : it was 
strong, and it was low, so that to be thrown out of it 
over the cliffs would not unnecessarily increase the 
height of the fall. We had been urged to telegraph to 
Grindelwald, that saddle horses might be waiting for us 
there ; but having found everywhere unmistakable signs 
that the rush of summer travel was over, and that even 
diligences were ready to sell tickets a third below the 
regular rates, we concluded to wait and make our own bar- 
gain with the guides, who are always able to understand 
the poorest French or German where there is the slight- 
est prospect of francs or marks. We proved to be right. 
(It might seem that we were always right, but the ex- 
planation of that is, whenever we were wrong the fact 
is suppressed). We found three horses of by no means 
unprepossessing appearance, and a man to act as guide 
who was the possessor of a good honest face, and a mag- 
nificent dog. We chose our steeds ; the light knapsacks 
were fastened to the saddle, the guide snapped his whip, 
the dog barked, the hotel clerk wished us a bon voyage, 
and we trotted off toward a hole in the fence, through 
which led the rough path over the Scheidegg. It was 
as narrow as it was rough, and flanked on either side by 
rail fences, whose sharp points were so turned that if a 



^6 Saunterings in Europe. 

horse should stumble on the round stones which lay 
everywhere, the rider would probably be instantly stuck 
through, like the bugs in a naturalist's box. As we rode 
on over the stones and down deep descents, the rails 
pointing still at our breasts, we felt that beauty in a 
horse is of secondary importance to surefootedness. 
Before the end of the journey, our beasts showed them- 
selves a thousand times to be possessed of this essential 
qualification for Alpine climbers. On our left the 
mountain ridges reminded us of some of the hillier por- 
tions of New York State, but on our right were the 
snow-covered peaks of the Shreckhorn and the Finster- 
horn. Behind us we could see distinctly the face of the 
Jungfrau. More beautiful even than the mountains 
were the glaciers, as they lay high above us, glistening 
in the sunlight like great frozen tears. 

In looking at a map of Switzerland, you find no proof 
that the road from the Grindelwald to Meiringen is not as 
level as that from New York to Philadelphia. A map of 
Switzerland is one thing, and Switzerland itself is quite 
another. This smooth-looking place is broken on the 
paper only by two words, " Great Sheid egg," over which, 
without difficulty, you look into Meiringen beyond. To 
cross that which this name represents is a good day's 
work for a horse and rider. Very soon the path began 
to lose in roughness and to gain in steepness. I looked 
at the small fetlocks of my horse and wondered how the 
muscles could stand such a strain. The sun had now 
warmed himself up for the real business of the day. 
Coats became an unnecessary luxury. The dog was the 
only one in the party who still wore his, but whenever 



From Interlaken to the Rhone Glacier, j-j 

we passed a pool of water cooled by the mountain 
springs he leaped in, with a yelp of delight, and when 
he caught up with us again, as if he wished to share the 
pleasure with us all, he shook himself heartily. In our 
three days' trip that dog succeeded, in a most modest 
and unassuming manner, in making himself the centre 
of attraction. He was continually doing something. 
He was never still for a moment. He must have trav- 
elled four miles to our one. But he kept always the 
same good-natured expression, which had, I am sure, its 
proper effect upon the other members of the party. 

We stopped to rest the horses, and to stretch our- 
selves at a little hut on the very top of the Great 
Scheidegg. We were many thousand feet above the 
sea level. Mountains stood all around us with their 
proud heads lifted far above us into the clouds. We 
walked out a hundred yards from the hut and gazed 
long and intently at the scene. There was no sound, save 
our own voices, to break the perfect silence. There was 
nothing in the distance to remind us of the human race 
toiling in hamlets and villages and cities, urged by ne- 
cessity, or lured by hope. Nature in one of her calmest 
and most passionless moods filled the horizon of our 
vision, and our thoughts. For untold generations these 
hills had stood as we now saw them. Men and empires 
have risen for a time above the common level, only to 
be swept into oblivion by that unceasing tide which has 
broken in vain against the Schreckhorn yonder, whose 
blood is ice, and whose heart is stone. If one would 
feel how little man is, how short is the span of his life, 
how transient and insignificant are the mightiest physi- 



78 Saunterings in Europe. 

cal forces he can set in motion, let him stand for half 
an hour on some mountain ridge like the Great Schei- 
degg, with nothing around him but the everlasting hills. 
On our return to the hut, two men were sitting by the 
boards, which served as a refreshment table, whose heavy 
sticks and sun-burnt faces marked them as pedestrians, 
while the first words they spoke made it equally evident 
that one was an Englishman and the other a Scotchman. 
They had as little difficulty in recognizing us as having 
come from the land where the boys whistle "Yankee 
Doodle " and the men " The Star-Spangled Banner." 

But the conversation which was immediately opened 
was lacking entirely in anything like an international 
tone. No reference was made to Afghanistan, or the 
Halifax fishery awards. Other more important matters 
monopolized our attention. They had just come from 
Meiringen, and could tell us what kind of a path we 
might expect to find. They were on their way to Grindel- 
wald, and we could render them a like service. The in- 
terchange of information had a discouraging effect upon 
us all. The German peasants have a degree of polite- 
ness, to which neither the English, Scotch, or American 
have as yet attained. In walking from Heidelberg to 
Weinheim one day, we asked a party of peasants how 
far we had still to go. The answer, given with a touch 
of the hat, was " eine stunde," or an hour, as distances 
here are always reckoned. " What did you tell the gen- 
tlemen that for," said another ; " it's much further." 
"Oh, I wished to be polite," he answered, "and say 
something pleasant." Neither the politeness of our 
pedestrian friends or ourselves took that form, and we 



From Interlaken to the Rhone Glacier. 79 

continued on our respective ways, confident that hard 
work, and not a little of it, lay between us and our rest- 
ing-places. We knew that we had given them only the 
true facts of what they might expect before reaching 
Grindelwald, but at first we consoled ourselves with the 
thought that probably they had exaggerated somewhat 
the steepness and roughness of the path down which we 
must go. In a half hour's time we were satisfied that this 
comfort was a false hope and a delusion ; English truth 
had been as colorless as American. The path exceeded 
their description in every imaginable form of badness. 
The stones became more abundant and larger, and 
sharper on the edges. There were places so steep that 
even the dog walked when he came to them, though 
that may have been from sympathy for us, as we all soon 
began to look somewhat dissatisfied and uncomfortable. 
We had passed the worst place we had yet seen, and 
were congratulating each other on the probability that 
the hardest part of the journey was over, when the guide 
turned toward us and said — keeping his long black cigar 
between his teeth : I am not certain that he took it out, 
even when he ate — " It would be well to get off now, the 
road ahead isn't so good." Isn't so good! If that were 
true, we needed no second invitation to leap out of a 
saddle which might become, by the slightest misstep of 
the horse, a mere instrument of propulsion to hurl us 
headforemost against one of the boulders along the road- 
side. The horses went on by themselves, as they had 
probably done under similar circumstances a hundred 
times before, while the guide took us along a path 
which led away from the main road, and which we 



8o Saunterings in Europe. 

thought was probably a short cut. To this suggestion, 
our leader replied that he was taking us to see a very 
beautiful waterfall just ahead. 

Now to be taken out of your way to see waterfalls after 
you have been in the saddle for several hours and are 
anxious to make the end of the journey as quickly as 
possible, is anything but pleasant in itself; and when to 
this is added the certainty that you are being dragged 
from the road to be robbed — to be sure, in a very quiet 
and polite way through the necessary payment of several 
small fees — there is a reasonable degree of probability 
that any one who knows sufficient German for the pur- 
pose, will tell the guide some things that it will be profit- 
able for him to reflect upon. Unfortunately in our 
limited German vocabulary, though we could find a num- 
ber of complimentary phrases, our teachers had been so 
thoughtless as not to furnish us with any word which 
could express our feelings at that present moment. So 
we kept silent, paid our fees with as good grace as possi- 
ble, looked at the Falls, the Reichenbach, with more sat- 
isfaction than we were willing to acknowledge under the 
circumstances ; and then, still in silence, followed our 
guide back to the road again. A short walk over the 
stones, a little ride over the level place at the foot of the 
mountain, and we were at our resting-place for the night. 
The hours of sleep seemed scarcely longer than the time 
it has taken me to write this sentence. But we had 
found the night before, that to reach the hotel at the 
Rhone Glacier before dark, an early start would be nec- 
essary. We kept the same guide, the same horses, and 
the same dog. 



From Interlaken to the RhOxNE Glacier. 8i 

As from Interlaken to Grindelwald, so from Meiringen 
to Imhof there is a good carriage road, of which we 
gladly made use. The best horse of the three had been 
tied and hitched to a low wagon, into which we crowded 
ourselves and drove away, with a friend of the guide as 
a coachman, while this important individual himself fol- 
lowed, mounted on one of the horses, and a small boy 
clung with a grasp like that of a drowning man to the 
saddle of the other. We came only too quickly to the 
stable, a mile or so beyond Imhof, where the wagon 
must be left. A great deficiency of enthusiasm was no- 
ticed in all the members of the party, as we slowly 
climbed again on the backs of our patient steeds. We 
had been solemnly assured that though the distance was 
greater, the road was much better than that we had 
come over the previous day. We found the first part of 
the assurance literally true, but there were many times 
that day when we were all very doubtful as to the last. 
The stones in the road were fewer, but the precipices at 
the side were incomparably more numerous. Without 
bending from the saddle we could often look down two 
hundred feet or more on the water dashing over the 
rocks below. No railing along the side of the path 
broke the view. The horses might quietly walk off into 
the air at any place should the desire for suicide or re- 
venge become strong. Once it seemed that after con- 
sultation they had all made up their minds thus to close 
the story of their own lives and of ours. My wild-look- 
ing animal especially showed an unbecoming anxiety to 
cut short this narrative of Saunterings in Europe. 

We stopped at Handeck for dinner. But when we 
4^ 



82 Saunterings in Europe. 

saw that the village consisted of only one visible house, 
and that a low, black-roofed hut, such as the Swiss peas- 
ants usually occupy, we concluded that we only wanted 
a lunch ; though whatever may be the appearance of a 
Swiss inn you can find almost without exception good 
bread and eggs. A traveller who can make a long jour- 
ney through the Alps without being supremely grateful 
to the bakers, and hens, must have a hard heart indeed. 
Though Handeck has few houses, its falls are acknowl- 
edged to be the finest in Switzerland. A bridge has 
been built over the stream where you can stand in a 
cloud of soft mist and watch two rivers as they plunge 
from opposite sides of the cliff to unite in the air before 
they dash themselves into the bottomless gulf beneath. 
Here you are reminded of Niagara. You are ready with- 
out discussion to call this a waterfall. From Handeck 
to the Grimsel Hospice is a ride of two hours, in which 
you see the same number of houses. The Hospice is a 
long gray building, strong enough to be a fortress, but 
none too strong to resist the rush of avalanches. Fifty 
years ago the house that stood on this spot was crush- 
ed by one of those merciless masses of snow and ice, 
but the inhabitants, the usual garrison in winter, a man 
and a dog, crawled out through the snow uninjured, 
and escaped to Meiringen. It was built originally, like 
that on the St. Bernard, as a convent where monks were 
to spend the whole year, ready at any moment to lay 
aside their holy book and beads, to plunge with their 
faithful dogs into the snow, in the still more holy work 
of saving human life. 

Before the Hospice, on a small level piece of ground 



From Interlaken to the Rhone Glacier. 8 







covered with vegetation, we found, to our surprise, a 
herd of forty or fifty cows quietly feeding. It was 
a place where we would expect to see only eagles 
and chamois, but these Swiss cows will climb as high 
as any other animal not provided with wings. It 
was in this basin, nearly a hundred years ago, that an 
Austrian and French army fought a deadly battle for 
the possession of the pass. In a little lake just beyond, 
called the '' Sea of Death," the victorious French threw 
the bodies of their own and of the enemy's dead. No 
wilder scene can be imagined than that hand to hand 
struggle, here on these mountain peaks above the clouds. 
We were now not far from the glacier of the ober or 
upper Aar whose name has become famous through the 
careful scientific experiments which have been made 
there year after year to discover if possible the rate of 
its motion. Agassiz, of whom America has a right to 
be proud, spent some weeks in a little hut by the side of 
this glacier, making these observations, from which he 
drew conclusions of greatest importance. On and up 
we went, till, according to the estimates of our guide- 
book, we were more than 8,000 feet above the sea level. 
Just before reaching the highest point of the pass, we 
saw a white mass in the path before us, which we were 
afraid at first to call snow, as we had been deceived 
several times during the day by a peculiar species of 
moss. But as we came nearer, our doubt disappeared. 
The hot August sun had labored in vain to turn these 
frozen flakes into mist. Our horses stepped carefully, 
but their feet made only a slight impression on the 
hard, surface. The guide thought the mass of snow 



84 Saunterings in Europe. 

and ice was twenty feet thick, and as we knew noth- 
ing about it, we concluded he was right. Gne more 
ascent and we were on the very top of the Grimsel, 
looking down into a great gorge through which flowed 
a little rivulet which we had seen pouring into Lake 
Geneva as the river Rhone ; which we had seen rushing 
out under the bridges of the city at the other end of the 
lake to receive the waters of the Arve, and to sweep 
them on five hundred miles away into the Mediterranean. 
One look at the path before us, which seemed literally 
to drop over the edge of the mountain into the valley, 
was sufficient. Without any suggestion from the guide, 
three saddles were instantly emptied. We had become 
by this time somewhat used to the ascent and descent 
of mountains, but this path was a constant surprise to us 
in its steepness, and the number of its windings. After 
we had walked for fifteen minutes we seemed to be only 
a few feet away from the place where we had started. If 
a fly has sufficient perseverance, he can probably reach 
the bottom of a corkscrew by walking around every 
thread. With some such hope, we kept steadily on. The 
outlines of the Rhone Glacier Hotel under our feet grew 
more distinct. We could distinguish passengers in the 
stage coach, slowly winding along the smooth post-road 
on the opposite hill. Then opened before us one of the 
grandest visions in Switzerland, or the world. Between 
the rocky peaks of the two mountains hung a gigantic 
mass of ice, as if a sea had broken loose and had been 
fastened to the spot by some magic breath. Far over the 
mountain, and far down into the valley, lay this most 
beautiful of all the glaciers, the Fountain of the Rhone, 



From Interlaken to the Rhone Glacier. 85 

the " Pillar of the Sun," as the ancients called it. Without 
entering the hotel, we walked at once, in the fading twi- 
light, across the vast bed of sand and stones toward the 
face of this mountain of ice. We crossed the Rhone on 
a narrow plank. The air grew colder at every step. What 
if this huge struggling prisoner should suddenly be set 
free ! We stood at last where we could touch the 
giant's head with our Alpine stocks. We saw an open- 
ing which seemed to lead into the corridors of his brain, 
and without hesitation we walked into a chamber as 
beautiful as the rooms of Alladin's palace, and as cold as 
the heart of a miser. We went back to the hotel satis- 
fied with the day's work. We had crossed the Grimsel 
Pass, had not only been to, but into the Rhone Glacier. 
Though all that night, in our dreams, we were riding 
horses on the edges of precipices, and being frozen in the 
hearts of icebergs, we did not regret an experience that 
had hung pictures in the memory upon which, at least 
in our waking hours, we will always look with delight. 



CHAPTER X. 

FROM THE RHONE GLACIER TO LUCERNE. 

l^he Halt at Andermatt — An Ideal Swiss Driver — The 
San Gothard Tunnel — William Tell — A Itdorf — The 
Gem of the Swiss Lakes — Lucerne — Thorwaldsen' s Lion. 

NO diligence road in S^vitzerland, it is said, twists it- 
self over higher mountains and through deeper 
gorges than that from the Rhone Glacier to Andermatt. 
More than an hour is spent at the start in climbing out 
of the valley to a point on the same level as the rough 
furrowed brow of the glacier. But it is one of the most 
delightful hours of the whole journey. Each curve of the 
road brought us nearer to the face of this cliff of ice, and 
at each curve there came from the inside of the diligence 
more enthusiastic expressions of admiration in French, 
German, Dutch, and English. We all looked, for many 
minutes in silence, when the last turn was reached, be- 
fore this marvel should be hidden from sight. We spoke 
different languages, but it was evident that the feelings 
out of which the words had sprung were not dissimilar, 
for we were all alike hushed and awed by the majesty of 
the sight before us. Our hearts were more alike than our 
tongues. At an inn on the summit of the mountains we 

took fresh horses and for the first time in many days we 

(86) 



From the Rhone Glacier to Lucerne. 87 

found ourselves going at a somewhat rapid pace. The 
road was smooth and hard ; the horses had nothing to 
do but go, and regardless of sharp turns we rattled on at 
a gait which would have rejoiced the heart of Jehu him- 
self. Soon the mists began to thicken. Regiments of 
clouds swept down and took possession of the hills and 
valleys. We seemed to be rushing into the bosom of a 
silent, motionless sea. We were forced from our guide- 
books and our imagination to create a landscape. It was 
probably so unlike the one through which we really 
passed, that a description would fail of that scientific 
accuracy which every one expects to find in books of 
travel. 

Before w^e reached Andermatt we became convinced 
that all this marching and marshalling of the clouds over 
the hills, and in the valleys, was by no means a mere 
dress parade. Some of the heavy batteries opened upon 
us with such effect that the passengers, except three 
Americans on the front seat, disappeared altogether from 
sight behind leather curtains and thick blankets. It was 
by no means an unpleasant thing, under such circum- 
stances, to find ourselves in a hotel in Andermatt, as 
cleanly and elegantly fitted up as almost any we had 
seen. Business must be somewhat at a standstill there 
in winter, for the snow is said to be often twenty feet 
deep ; but in summer this little town has attractions 
enough to draw numbers of visitors from all over Europe 
and America. We saw it at a disadvantage. In fact we 
saw very little of it except an exceedingly pleasant din- 
ing-room. Yet beefsteaks and coffee, however good they 
may be, have scarcely sufficient individuality to repre- 



88 Saunterings in Europe. 

sent to a traveller the combined attractions of a whole 
village. But we will not forget Andermatt, for there we 
left our Baedeker's " Switzerland " lying quietly in a 
chair in the hall. It had been the pride of the party. 
It knew more than all the drivers and guides. It told 
almost everything we needed to know in beautiful short 
sentences. We wrote back for it from our next stopping- 
place ; but tender as the note was, it had no effect on the 
hard heart of the waiter, who probably hoped to ex- 
change it for silver with some of his future guests. We 
could have bought another for a small sum, but it would 
not have been the one we had carried on long tramps, 
when every ounce weighed a pound. It would only have 
been a constant reminder of our loss, and we have to 
this hour refused to place such an alien among our little 
household of faithful bibliopolic friends. Should the 
waiter who carries that unanswered letter in his pocket, 
ever read these lines, it is to be hoped that remorse will 
drive him steadily on till he places the well-worn book in 
the hands of its rightful and bereaved owner. 

For a sum very much less than the lowest diligence 
figures, we secured at Andermatt quite a royal equipage 
drawn by three good horses and driven by the most dis- 
tinguished-looking individual we had seen in Switzerland. 
He was an ideal Italian bandit, but having the misfor- 
tune to be born on the Swiss side of the Alps, he spoke 
rough consonants instead of soft vowels, and carried a 
long whip instead of a dagger and revolver. We found, 
however, before we were through with him, that these 
superficial changes had not greatly affected the heart. 
He was handsome and graceful. He could snap his 



From the Rhone Glacier to Lucerne. 89 

whip with tremendous effect. He could smile and talk 
quite charmingly — when everything went as he wanted 
it. But he had words in his vocabulary that cracked 
louder than his whip, and he sometimes showed his white 
teeth when he was not smiling. But I must not antici- 
pate. It was raining even harder than before as we 
took our seats in the luxurious carriage and drove, at by 
no means a snail's pace, out of Andermatt. We made 
our first stop at the Devil's Bridge, a structure almost 
as remarkable as its name. It is a great arch of granite 
thrown over a gorge through which the river Reuss foams 
and hisses and tears its way. We put our hands in our 
pockets after Baedeker, that we might read the story of 
the battle which we knew had been fought on the old 
bridge, just underneath the new. When all the pockets 
and satchels of three men had been examined — we 
thought it unnecessary and unsafe to search the bandit 
— the conviction forced itself upon us that one — we each 
knew that we were not that one — had been guilty of 
leaving behind the most important member of the party. 
We uttered a long, sad cry, which the driver seemed to 
think was a prayer to the spirit after whom the bridge 
was named, and then went on our way in sadness. 

At the little village of Goeschenen, we came suddenly 
upon a mass of men and horses and engines. What this 
could mean here, high up in the Alps, was at first an in- 
explicable mystery. Could it be that the Swiss were 
building another tower of Babel on one of these lofty 
peaks ? At last the bandit shouted back through the rain : 
" Das ist der St. Gothard Tunnel." We had been read- 
ing in the American papers little scraps of news concern- 



90 Saunterings in Europe. 

ing this work for the last six years, but this is a fearfully 
skeptical age, and we scarcely believed that men were 
in fact trying to bore a hole nine miles long under one 
of the greatest of the Alps. Yet here they were, work- 
ing on as if confident of success. The contractor has 
even agreed to complete his task by 1880.^ The Italian, 
German, and Swiss Governments are paying the bills. 
About seventeen million dollars will be needed for the 
tunnel and the railroad connecting Switzerland with 
Italy. The glory of the diligence is departing. The 
long whips of the drivers will soon be hung upon the 
willows. The hands that once swung the lash so skill- 
fully will grasp the conductor's punch. The voice that 
was wont to shout to the leaders, till the eagle was 
frightened from his perch, and the chamois from his 
rock, will cry, in a subdued tone, " Tickets ! " " Tick- 
ets ! " So, one by one. Science, in her mighty onward 
tread, crushes underfoot the idealities of life. 

The mist was so dense that we saw nothing after leav- 
ing Goeschenen, except the huts along the roadside of 
" some poor wild men " — 

" Whose trade is on the brow of the abyss, 
To mow the common grass from craggy shelves 
And nooks, to which the caltle dare not climb." 

But we were drawing near the most famous village of its 
size in Switzerland. We soon felt beneath the wheels of 
the carriage the stones of a paved street. We are pass- 
ing through the centre of Altdorf, the scene of William 
Tell's renowned exploits. We shall see the spot where 



* The tunnel is now, 1882, in daily use. 



From the Rhone Glacier to Lucerne. 91 

the Swiss patriot stood and aimed his arrow at the apple 
on his son's head. There it is ! There stands Tell him- 
self ! He has grown, like his own fame, into giant-like 
proportions. No emotions of love and hate play over 
that calm, stone face. He looks out into the storm, un- 
moved. A hundred and fifty yards away, a fountain 
covers with perpetual tears the spot pressed by the 
knees of the broken-hearted Swiss, as they were forced 
to bow before the uplifted cap of the tyrant Gessler. 
In his exquisitely beautiful drama of AVilliam Tell, the 
German poet Schiller makes Gessler say : 

" This hat at Altdorf, mark you, I sat up 
Not for the joke's sake, or to try the hearts 
O' the people ; these I know of old ; but that 
They might be taught to bend their necks to me 
Which are too straight and stiff; and in the way 
When they are hourly passing, I have planted 
This offence, that so their eyes may fall on't. 
And remind them of their lord, whom they forget." 

Our hearts were full of thoughts of Tell, for we chose 
with Schiller to believe implicitly in the reality of this 
Swiss hero, as we came to the end of our journey in 
Fluelen at the head of Lake Lucerne. We asked our 
driver, who had borne himself with great dignity and 
grace the whole way, to take us to the best hotel, for we 
had now no Baedeker to rely on for advice upon this 
important subject. He assured us, that to do this would 
be the greatest joy of his life. Of all the passengers 
that had ever done him the honor of occupying his car- 
riage, we were the most, etc., etc. We trusted this 
handsome bandit. We knew and said as much, that he 



92 Saunterings in Europe. 

could take us to the most delightfully clean and com- 
fortable house in all Fluelen. Our dream was somewhat 
rudely broken by a sudden halt before a hotel whose ap- 
pearance scattered instantly all such hopes. The land- 
lord and his waiters seized upon us, and we were just 
about to be led away in triumph, when one of the party 
discovered, just ahead, a hotel on the bank of the lake 
answering apparently in every way the description of 
what a good Swiss inn should be. In the purest Ger- 
man, and with American firmness, we told our driver to 
take us there. We had seen one or two storms among 
the Alps, " when the grim sky-piercing cliffs were over- 
shadowed with clouds and illuminated only by the red 
glare of the lightning," but all this was nothing com- 
pared with the tempest of which we became the centre 
the moment the words had left our lips. The bandit 
drew neither pistol nor knife, but he hurled great thun- 
derbolts of German adjectives and epithets upon our 
heads. These were caught up and echoed by the land- 
lord and his troop of waiters. We were told that the 
hotel ahead was not a hotel ; that the one before which 
we stood was the best in Fluelen, in Switzerland, in all 
Europe ! That we must get out here. We became sud- 
denly deaf ; unable to understand either threats or ex- 
postulations ; speaking not a word, only steadily point- 
ing on like the ghosts of three Caesars before an undis- 
mayed Brutus. With deep mutterings the bandit slow- 
ly mounted the box, gathered up the reins as if they 
burned his fingers and sat us down in a very few mo- 
ments before the door which had looked so inviting, and 
which proved to be the entrance of one of the pleasant- 



From the Rhone Glacier to Lucerne. 93 

est hotels we had yet found. The whole scene was ex- 
plained when we heard, as we soon did, that our gallant 
coachman, with the broad-brimmed hat and twisted 
mustachios, was in the employ of the other house. 

The programme we had marked out for ourselves in- 
cluded the ascent of the Rigi for the next day, but when 
we found in the morning that the clouds which had hung 
over us all the way from Andermatt, were still dark and 
thick, and weeping at times most hysterically, we were 
obliged to omit this item from our schedule, and con- 
fine ourselves to a quiet sail down the lake of the Four 
Cantons to Lucerne. Not a few enthusiastic admirers 
of this peculiar cross-shaped sheet of water, speak of it 
without hesitation, as the most beautiful in Switzerland. 
We were ready, from what we saw of it that day, and on 
a morning not long after, when the clouds had uncover- 
ed the hills, to acknowledge that of these "great, liquid 
pearls lying in the bosom of the mountains," this was 
the most charming we had yet seen. It is girded by 
Alps, some of them black, solitary, desolate ; others, 
when the sun is out, look down upon you with shining 
white faces, over which now and then run ripples like 
broad smiles of heartfelt gladness. A right royal place 
truly is this cradle of Swiss liberty. You can believe 
that men born here, breathing this pure air, living in 
daily contact with such scenes as these, should hate 
tyranny, should be ready, at the call of one brave voice, 
to row their boats across the lake, as they did five hun- 
dred years ago, to swear fidelity to their cantons and to 
the spirit of liberty. You can believe that on this rock, 
under the trees of the bank. Tell leaped from Gessler's 



94 Saunterings in Europe. 

boat, whose rudder had been given into his skillful 
hands when the storm burst upon the tyrant as he was 
taking his captive away to prison, and that from the 
very spot where the chapel that bears his name looks 
out from among the thick branches, he hurled defiance 
and scorn upon the thwarted Austrian Landvogt. That 
up yonder, a few miles away, in a gorge by Kussnacht, 
where another chapel perpetuates his memory, this 
Swiss hero, in whom Carlyle says " were combined all 
the attributes of a great man without the help of educa- 
tion or of great occasions to develop them," made des- 
perate by the wrongs he had suffered, waited by the 
roadside for Gessler to pass with such thoughts as these, 
which Schiller has placed upon his lips, nerving him with 
courage for the fatal deed. 

" Remote and harmless I have lived ; my bow 
Ne'er bent save on the wild beast of the forest ; 
My thoughts were free of murder. Thou hast scared me 
From my peace ; to fell asp-poison hast thou 
Changed the milk of kindly temper in me ; 
Thou hast accustomed me to horrors. Gessler, 
The archer who could aim at his boy's head 
Can send an arrow to his enemy's heart."" 

There by the roadside the tyrant falls from his horse 
with Tell's arrow in his breast. The curse on his lips 
becomes a groan of baffled rage and pain. Out of his 
blood, which mingled with the dust in the hollow by 
Kussnacht, rose the freedom of the Swiss cantons. All 
we can see of the Rigi, as we pass, is a landing-place 
covered with a crowd, most of them, probably, Americans 
who have just come down from among the clouds ; and 



From the Rhone Glacier to Lucerne. 95 

the iron ladder up which a bison-Hke Httle engine pushes 
with its head two or three heavily-loaded cars. We con- 
sole ourselves, as the boat plows its way on toward 
Lucerne, that by Monday the whole condition of things 
will be changed, and we will doubtless have, what is 
here considered a very great curiosity, a perfectly clear 
day. Even in a rain-storm the first view of the city 
of Lucerne satisfies all ordinary expectations. The 
great hotels on the bank of the lake ; the tall church 
spires lifting their heads high in air, as if to overtop 
the mountains ; the bridges, old and new, over the Reuss, 
some of them bending with a sharp angle in the middle 
of the stream as if the builder at that point had joined 
the planks with his eyes shut — it is a picture which 
might stir the cold blood of the most phlegmatic of 
travellers. 

We thought, when we left Vevey, that we should 
never again find such a delightful place in which to 
spend Sunday. But the first glimpse of Lucerne shat- 
tered this belief, and we concluded that a voluntary im- 
prisonment of some forty-eight hours under the shadow 
of those watch-towers would be at least bearable. We 
did not know then that our captivity would be made 
still less burdensome by the companionship of friends. 
I was suddenly accosted, in a most familiar way, in the 
halls of the Schweizerhof, by a gentleman whom in the 
first moment of surprise I took to be a stranger, but as 
soon as the molecular atoms of the cerebrum had re- 
sumed their proper functions, I recognized with great 
pleasure a face whom I had seen many times every day 
on the deck and in the dining saloon of the Britannic, 



96 Saunterings in Europe. 

but never once turning pale before the mightiest waves 
or the heartiest dinner. He and his travelUng compan- 
ions had seen Amsterdam and Brussels, Cologne, the 
Rhine and Heidelberg. I had seen some things too, so 
that for a time our conversation reminded us of the let- 
ter which a country girl, who had never been to a city 
before, wrote home after her first week spent at the 
Philadelphia Exposition : " Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! — 
mother! Your affectionate daughter." One has so 
much to say on meeting old friends in the heart of 
Europe, that even adjectives break down under the 
burden, and nothing but interjections are left on duty. 

We all went together to see the treasure of which Lu- 
cerne is so proud and to which she owes much of her 
fame. A short, pleasant walk from the bank of the lake 
brought us to a little grove on the hill behind the city. 
We knew that we were about to look upon the most 
original — it has also been called the most beautiful — 
monument that has ever been dedicated to the memory 
of fallen heroes. We turned through the garden gate, 
stood by the pool of pure water which bathes the foot 
of the great rock, and looked full into the face of Thor- 
waldsen's lion. It is cut out of the solid stone. It is near- 
ly thirty feet long and almost eighteen high. It is to 
perpetuate the names of twenty-six Swiss officers and 
seven hundred and sixty soldiers who were slaughtered 
in Paris, in the vain effort to protect their monarch, 
Louis XVI., from the Revolutionists of 1792. It need- 
ed a genius like Thorwaldsen to conceive a memorial 
worthy of such men. It needed skill like his to impart 
to the stony features of this wild beast, expressions which 



From the Rhone Glacier to Lucerne. 97 

should awaken only noble emotions in the heart. He 
undertook a difficult task. He has succeeded most mar- 
vellously. The great brute reclining there upon the rock 
is more eloquent than a poem. The blood oozing from 
the wound of a spear, still sticking deep in the flesh ; 
the look of agony and of resignation in the face ; the 
strong paw thrown in protection, even in the throes of 
death, over the shield and lilies of France — these tell, as 
words can not, the story of that dark day in Paris and 
the bravery of the lion-like Swiss who shed their blood 
at the post of duty. 



CHAPTER XL 

THE RIGI AND HEIDELBERG. 

Up the Rigi by Rail — The Field of Sempach — Basle — 

Seeing an Emperor — Heidelberg — German Students. 

THE most extended and varied view in all Switzer- 
land is from the top of the Rigi. This watch- 
tower of the Alps rises from the banks of Lake Lucerne, 
only a few miles from the town of the same name. It 
is a pigmy compared with some of its brethren. If it 
stood on tip-toe, it would scarcely reach to their shoul- 
ders. But it has the advantage of isolation. For mount- 
tains, union is weakness. Because the Rigi stands alone 
with no rival anywhere to darken the outlook from the 
hornlike tower with which its head is crowned, it has 
become a petted popular favorite, and as such, it makes 
full use of those ways and arts which favorites so quickly 
acquire. It smiles, scowls, and pouts a dozen times in 
every hour. It is full of whims and partialities. It may 
show you, if in the right mood, half a score of lakes 
and as many towns and villages. But you may stay for 
hours and weep, and plead, with this incorrigible coquette, 
when the mood has changed, and go away without hav- 
ing seen as much as out of the back windows of your 
hotel in Lucerne. The fame of this fickle-minded Alpine 
(98) 



The RiGi and Heidelberg. 99 

queen has gone everywhere, so that we knew what we 
might expect. 

We started early Monday morning, after our de- 
lightful rest of the Sabbath. We saw white heads of 
mountains now, where on the Saturday before we had 
seen only thick, white clouds. Grand old Pilatus, with 
his melancholy gray face, looked majestically down upon 
us. Above the peaks which encircled the lake, the snow- 
covered ranges of the higher Alps rose every few mo- 
ments into view. As we breathed the fresh morning air 
and gazed upon this scene of wondrous beauty, we were 
sorely tempted to use our strongest adjectives at once, 
but we remembered that if the Rigi was at all propi- 
tious, we would have still greater need of them before 
many hours, and becoming more economical of our am- 
munition, we fired only now and then in our excitement 
a single-barrel salute. We took our places, after much 
crowding, in one of the three cars standing on the in- 
clined track, waiting for the wild animal-like locomotive 
to butt them up the cliff. The little creature snuffed 
and snorted tremendously, as it had a right to, for in 
some places the road rises a foot in every four. The 
contrivances for clamping the cars to the track, in case 
of accident, rose in interest with the steepness of the 
grade. There were times when we all gave up talking, 
and looked at these intently. We were also somewhat 
comforted with the statistical reports, which show this 
to be one of the safest railways in Europe. In a little 
more than an hour, this panting beast behind us had 
boosted us up to the top. As we were on the right side 
of the car toward the lake, the views all the way up 



100 Saunterings in Europe. 

were exceedingly beautiful. We felt that in a measure 
we had outwitted this whimsical lady, by thus looking 
upon some of her fairest treasures before she was fully 
aware of our presence. 

You are not only reminded of Mount Washington by 
this peculiar combination of the steam engine and the 
elevator, but, especially on a cloudy day, the scene at the 
top will recall to remembrance your experience on the 
loftiest of the New England peaks. Apparently the 
same crowd you saw five or ten years ago, warming 
themselves " between looks " at the great stove, piled 
with v/ood, are here undergoing the same process. The 
height of the two mountains is the same, within a few 
feet. But if the day is reasonably clear, the scene may 
remind you of Mt. Washington rather by contrast than 
by resemblance. An immense stretch of country spreads 
out before you, when you stand on that pinnacle of the 
White Mountains ; you look down on green fields, pros- 
perous villages, teeming cities ; beyond Portland you 
may catch the gleam of the sun on the ocean. But from 
the Rigi you look out not only on fields and villages, 
and cities and lakes, but on the incomparable Alps them- 
selves, piercing the horizon with their majestic white 
heads. The most patriotic American will need to gaze 
on all this only for a few moments — if he is honest — 
before being ready to acknowledge, that while in general 
we surpass the rest of the world in everything, in this 
particular instance we must yield the palm. 

I had found the companionship of my two New York 
friends, whom I had met accidentally at Geneva, so very 
pleasant throughout our whole Swiss tour, that I was loath 



The Rigi and Heidelberg. ioi 

to say good-bye to them in Lucerne. But the time had 
come for our paths to separate, they returning to Paris, 
and I going on into Germany. It was with something 
of sadness that I looked back as the train rushed rapidly 
on, over famous battle-fields and the sites of Roman vil- 
las toward the Rhine. It was at Sempach, a few miles 
from Lucerne, that Arnold Winkelried swept the long 
Austrian lances into his breast, '^ to open," as he said, "a 
path to freedom." His comrades pushed through the 
breach that he had made, and the phalanx that had stood 
immovable before the bravest onslaughts of a whole army, 
was conquered by the self-sacrifice of one man. Just 
before reaching Basle, we passed another battle-field, St. 
Jacob's, where stands a pillar surmounted by a figure of 
Helvetia, with four dying soldiers, with the inscription, 
" Our souls to God, our bodies to the enemy." Here, it 
is said, in 1414, a little band of 1,300 Swiss stood for 
hours against a French army of 30,000, stood, till all but 
fifty were struck down by the enemy's arrows or swords. 
I had expected, on leaving Lucerne, to ride all night, 
reaching Heidelberg early the next morning ; but when 
the command came to change cars at Basle, and when 
nothing in any way resembling a sleeping-car was to be 
found — though they have very comfortable ones on some 
roads — I concluded to stop over and see something of 
this town, which, from its position on the borders of 
Switzerland, France, and Germany, wields an influence 
entirely out of proportion to its size. It was a beautiful 
moonlight night, and from the windows of the hotel I 
could look down on the black, shimmering waters of the 
Rhine. At Andermatt we were within a few miles of 



I02 Saunterings in Europe. 

its source, but this was the first time I had ever stood 
by this river, whose banks beyond Mayence are lined 
with castles, whose very rocks have their legends, whose 
fame has been sung in a thousand poems, and whose 
name has a larger and more permanent place in Euro- 
pean history than that of any monarch, be he a Charle- 
magne or a Napoleon. 

There was time enough the next morning, before the 
train started, to see something of this old town, whose 
pedigree can be traced back to a Roman fortress built 
by the Emperor Valentinian. I went first to the cathe- 
dral. It stands on one of the hills of the city, and is 
the most prominent object in the place. In this church, 
some four hundred and fifty years ago, five hundred 
bishops, forerunners of the coming reformation, met 
with the hope of restoring the church to its apostolic 
purity. Either the work was herculean, or they were 
remarkable talkers, even for clergymen, for they dis- 
cussed this question seventeen years, and were still dis- 
cussing, when the Pope moved and carried an adjourn- 
ment by a sweeping excommunication. It was here, 
also, that Erasmus, the most famous scholar, perhaps, 
whose name is connected with the Reformation, made 
his headquarters. He stood in about the same relation 
to the great movements of the day, as Basle does to 
France, Switzerland, and Germany. He was just on the 
border line. No party knew whether he belonged to 
them, or to their enemies, and it is by no means im- 
probable that he did not know himself. I tried also to 
find the university, which is said to be one of the best 
in Switzerland, but whether my failure in this was due 



The Rigi and Heidelberg. 103 

to the insignificance of the buildings themselves, or to 
the limited amount of time at my disposal, or to my for- 
eign accent, is uncertain. 

From Basle to Heidelberg proved to be a longer 
ride than I had supposed, and longer than the time- 
table gave one any reason to suspect. The railroad 
does not run, like the New York Central, along the 
banks of the river, but so far inland that no signs 
of the Rhine are anywhere visible. The windows 
of the right side of the car looked out on the dense 
masses of the Black Forest. The imps and fairies 
that formerly held possession of these dark glens and 
wastes, have been frightened away by the scream of the 
locomotive. Well-made carriage roads now thread the 
forest everywhere ; they are well used too, in summer 
by multitudes of travellers. The Black Forest, at least 
as seen from a railroad car, becomes somewhat monot- 
onous after a few hours. We saw nothing of any very 
great interest till Appenweier was reached. We were 
then only a few miles from Strasburg. The spire of the 
great Cathedral, the loftiest in the world, which with- 
stood so wonderfully the Prussian shells in the terrible 
bombardment of 1870, could be distinctly seen, at least 
we were told so, after reaching Heidelberg. Away to 
the right, as we passed through Dos, we could see, and 
did, the valley in which nestles Baden-Baden, one of the 
most popular of German watering-places, and one of the 
loveliest of little cities. Further on is Carlsruhe, the 
seat of the grand duke's court. The name ''Charles 
rest " is significant. The founder of the town had some 
difficulty with the people of Durlach, and sat himself 



104 Saunterings in Europe. 

down here, with the avowed purpose of being contented 
and happy. He did all in his power to build a beautiful 
city round his palace. His successors have followed in 
his footsteps, till to-day not only a grand duke, but a 
king himself might be satisfied to rest awhile in Carls- 
ruhe. It is now the home of the daughter of a king 
and emperor. The wife of the present Grand Duke of 
Baden is the only daughter of Kaiser Wilhelm. The 
venerable German Emperor usually spends some weeks 
of the summer either here or in Baden, where the grand 
duke has another palace. It was my good fortune at 
Heidelberg one evening, to see the conqueror of Na- 
poleon in., as he was on his way to visit the Grand 
Duchess. His manner was so free from all imperial ar 
rogance, so kind and fatherly, that he won the cheers 
and hearts of all who were within sound of the words 
he spoke, thanking the officials of Heidelberg for their 
kind reception. 

It was not very long after leaving Carlsruhe, that 
an immense, stolid, good-natured -looking German, 
who had been consuming cigars at a wondrous rate — 
there are in German trains only a few compartments 
in which smoking is forbidden — began to look out of 
the window somewhat more nervously, and then at 
a great bag on the rack over our heads, as if wrestling 
in spirit with the unpleasant thought, that very soon a 
series of muscular movements would become a necessity. 
I took this for a good sign. Probably his destination was 
Heidelberg, and we must be rapidly nearing the place. A 
few moments and we were in the outskirts of the city, a 
few moments more and the train stopped at the station. 



The Rigi and Heidelberg. 105 

The first view of Heidelberg from the railroad is by 
no means impressive. A long business street, a pleasant 
avenue called the Anlage, running between rows of trees 
and comfortable residences, a river on one side of the 
train, and mountains on both — it would be some such 
picture that a' traveller, hurriedly hastening through, 
would carry away with him. But there are few who can 
spend a week here without yielding to the fascinations 
of the place. A walk at sunset to the old castle is usu- 
ally sufficient to conquer all but the most obstinate. He 
must have a vivid imagination indeed, whose concep- 
tion of what a grand old ruin should be, is not filled 
by this huge mass which was once the princely home 
of the electors Palatinate. He must have a dull im- 
agination indeed, who can walk through the great court 
and into the high halls, whose vaulted roofs, less than 
300 years ago rang with the laughter of many of the 
most cultured lords and ladies in all Europe, without 
seeing more than crumbling stones and shattered statues. 
But to stand on the great terrace as the sun dips low in 
the west behind the Rhine, to watch the Neckar as it 
sweeps around the base of the hill at your feet, and on 
through the town and valley to resign at Manheim, its 
personality in the waters of the more famous river, to 
look across to the Heiligenberg, covered with vineyards 
and crowned with the ruins of an old abbey, to see the 
broken towers and windows of the castle gleam for a mo- 
ment in the fading sunlight, and then the lighted gas in 
the streets, and the long rows of lamps far out into the 
valley, along the railroad, is to gaze on a picture which 
all who choose may carry away with them from Hcidel- 



io6 Saunterings in Europe. 

berg, and which, travel where they may, will long remain 
unrivalled*. But the name of this town, like that of Ox- 
ford or Cambridge, recalls at once the fame of its univer- 
sity. English and Americans have expected to find here 
stately and beautiful buildings like those on the Cam, or 
the Isis, or the St. Charles. It is almost impossible for 
them to believe that the square, stuccoed, barrack-like 
structure which has been pointed out as the object of 
their search, is in reality the university itself. Even the 
assurances of the most solemn-looking professors, who 
neither joke themselves, nor understand the jokes of 
others, are scarcely sufficient to convince them. They 
must have misunderstood what was meant. The Ameri- 
can ear sometimes fails to catch the proper meaning of 
German words. This surprise gradually vanishes, after a 
visit to two or three other university towns. 

The buildings are about the same everywhere. When 
one considers the purpose for which they are designed, 
one becomes gradually reconciled to the change which 
one's conceptions must undergo. The German university 
is in every way a complete contrast to the English or 
American. The students are under no restraint what- 
ever. They may attend lectures or not, as they see fit. 
The university officers have far less to do with the gov- 
ernment of the students, than the police. The one pur- 
pose of these institutions is to offer, for a merely nominal 
price to the young men who wish to hear them, the best 
lectures on theology, law, medicine, philosophy, science, 
and art, which the wisdom of this century can afford. 
For such a purpose, only plain lecture halls and well- 
equipped laboratories are needed. These are found at 



The Rigi and Heidelberg. 107 

Heidelberg and in all the other great schools of the same 
rank. For those who wish to study, these institutions 
furnish a constant intellectual banquet. For those who 
wish to spend a year or more of elegant loafing in a liter- 
ary atmosphere, they have equal attractions. To expect 
that such complete liberty would not be often abused, is 
to reason without any knowledge whatever of that '^ con- 
stant quantity" which we call human nature. There are 
matriculated students, perhaps as many at Heidelberg as 
anywhere else, who scarcely hear a lecture, or read a 
book during a w^iole Semester — half a year. They de- 
vote their muscular powers the first year — after that they 
settle down to work — to the drinking of vast quantities 
of beer, and their intellectual faculties to the planning of 
duels. Both of these branches of activity are carried on 
with considerable form and ceremony. The university 
loafer may drink stray glasses of beer at odd hours dur- 
ing the day, but he w^aits till evening to do the solid 
work. He then meets with a number of ''birds of the 
same feather," and for many a long hour during the 
^^ kneipe^' as they call it, the drunk, as we would call it 
in common Anglo-Saxon, they dip their bills in the foam- 
ing mugs. The pauses are filled with songs, usually ex- 
ceedingly well sung. Having thus created a ''beautiful 
thirst," the exercises proceed as before. Owing either to 
the strength of the German brain, or to the weakness of 
the German beer, the majority of those who have taken 
part in thi.s highly intellectual performance, are usually 
able at its conclusion to walk home. All are able to walk 
back the next night in time for the encore, or rather, all 
would be able, if it were not for the fact that probably 



io8 Sauntertngs in Europe. 

some one of the number at least, is for a few days under 
the doctor's care. He has a great gash across his face. 
The end of his nose has found an untimely and lonely 
grave. He looks like a returned hero from Gravelotte or 
Sedan. But his wounds were not received in fighting, as 
they say here " for the love of king and country " — he 
fought for the honor of his corps, or for the love of the 
thing. 

Every Tuesday and Friday, when the university is in 
proper running order, little bands of students wearing 
the most wonderful caps, file out of the town, cross the 
bridge over the Neckar, follow the river a little way, and 
then turn into a gorge which leads to the inn of the 
Hirschgasse. They enter here a large hall hung with 
flags and emblems of the different corps or societies. 
Assistants are chosen. The combatants are covered 
with pads, so that only the face can be struck by the 
duelling sword, called the schlaeger. If the contestants 
are skillful it may be some time before either can cut his 
signature upon the cheek or nose of the other. At last 
one of them becomes somewhat careless, strikes wildly, 
and before he can recover his guard the blood is spurt- 
ing in his eyes from a broad gash half the length of his 
face. The method of carrying on this combat is not 
more peculiar than the result. For this is a struggle in 
which every one who takes part may be said to win. 
The man who inflicts the blow is of course happy. The 
man who receives it has a heart equally full of joy. He 
is certain now that if he does not bleed to death, which 
is not probable, he will be able in a few days to appear 
upon the Anlage with a magnificent scar, which will at- 



The Rtgi and Heidelberg. 109 

tract even more attention and admiration than the great 
dog that walks at his side, and which will make some of 
the insignificant scars on the faces of his fellow-students 
turn fairly green with envy. When I was first told that 
a student wounded in a duel would use artificial means 
to increase the size and redness of the scar I smiled, but 
considered it a hoax. I have since smiled at my own 
innocence in attempting to judge German students 
by American standards. It may not be believed, but 
it is true that among the majority of the students, 
especially those in Jena and Heidelberg, there is as 
great a desire to wear a scar upon the face, as there 
is among military officers to wear a star upon the breast. 
If we have ever flattered ourselves that our brothers are 
less under the tyranny of fashion than our sisters, these 
students, proud of their gashes, may be a most useful 
study for the development of modesty in the masculiwe 
heart. 



CHAPTER XII. 

A DAY IN HEIDELBERG. 

The Popular Walk — A Viezv of the Castle — Sights from 
the King's Seat — University Buildings and Duels — 
The Emperor in Heidelberg — Attending the Reception. 

IT was one of those rare days, when to Hve is a de- 
light. Upon earth, and sky, lay a coloring so soft 
that mountains and forests, and even tall, dingy houses, 
were almost as beautiful as if seen by moonlight. The 
macadamized road of the favorite drive in the town was 
spotted like a mountain-path with the bright yellow, or 
more sombre leaves of the Linden and Castania. Only 
the highest branches of the trees trembled and quivered 
before the puffs of autumn breezes weakened by the aid 
they had given to the storm of the previous night. The 
Anlage — the popular boulevard of Heidelberg — was 
filled with cabs and carriages, and the sidewalk with 
strollers from the town and university — the latter easily 
distinguished either by a remarkable cap of some bright 
color, a huge scar or number of scars on the cheek, and 
an enormous dog, as nearly like Bismarck's favorite as 
possible, walking at times behind his master and at 
other times brushing against unwary pedestrians as 

gently as an ox. We turned from this interesting scene, 
(no) 



A Day in Heidelberg. hi 

and in a moment were climbing up the Geisbcrg. The 
thick trees shut from view everything but the path on 
which we were walking, and a few white clouds that 
drifted across the sky, but in less than half an hour we 
were standing on an artificially constructed platform of 
stone called the Kanzel, or pulpit, from which the out- 
look was wide enough and beautiful enough to serve as 
a foretaste of what awaited us at the top. A somewhat 
steeper climb of another twenty minutes brought us to 
a more famous spot — the Molkenkur {" wheycure"), as it 
is now called. Here is one of the grandest views of 
Heidelberg's ruined castle. You look down upon its 
broken towers and vine-covered walls. With a field- 
glass you can see distinctly the exquisitely carved He- 
brew and Grecian allegorical figures, which enhance not 
a little the beauty of one of the most perfect buildings in 
Europe — the Otto Heinrichs Bau. The grotesque stat- 
ues of the perhaps too heavily ornamented Fredericks 
Bau are still more distinct. 

You may have been up and down the Rhine, gazed 
on Rheinstein and Drachenfels, but you have seen noth- 
ing more fascinatingly beautiful than this old Schloss 
cf Heidelberg, scarred as it is by ten thousand cruel 
blows. While you look in dreamy delight, you can 
hear, in imagination, the roar of the French and Aus- 
trian cannon that two centuries and a half ago, mangled 
those towers, and covered the pavement of that court- 
yard with stone and leaden balls. You can see the 
white puffs of smoke from the muskets of the dense 
mass of soldiers far away there, across the Neckar, as 
they storm the old bridge. These forests, so silent a 



112 Saunterings in Europe. 

moment before, are alive now with Tilly's dragoons. 
You hear the Geisberg and the Heiligenberg echo, and re- 
echo with ten thousand hoarse shouts of the victorious, 
or the wounded. You see the brave garrison, slowly 
driven from the walls, at last forced to surrender. You 
leap over almost seventy years, and again the French 
are in possession of the castle. You could plead with 
them as you watch the barrels of powder which soldiers 
are rolling into those massive towers, and under those 
thick walls. For the sake of posterity, of the multitudes 
who will come from every corner of the earth to look 
upon this beautiful work of hands marvellously skilful, 
withhold the torch, spare this priceless treasure ! But 
while the prayer is still warm on your lips, the earth 
trembles as if in agony, the sky is red with the glare of 
flames, the air is filled with flying stones ; houses in the 
town are falling, crushed by huge rocks. The cruel and 
barbarous commands of the French general, Melac, have 
been obeyed. Heidelberg castle is a ruin. Its great 
tower, with walls more than twenty feet thick, lies a 
solid mass in the moat, to this day the wonder of all 
who look upon it. So perished the glory of the magnifi- 
cent house of the Elector Frederick — for one winter a 
king in Bohemia — and his royal bride, Elizabeth of En- 
gland. If you are in a tender mood as you gaze, you 
will not begrudge a tear for the broken walls of the cas- 
tle, and the broken hearts of the irresolute Elector and 
his noble wife. 

Away from the Molkenkur the path still leads upward 
toward the Konig Stuhl (King's seat), a tower ninety- 
three feet high on the summit of this range of hills. 



A Day in Heidelberg. 113 

From its top the eye sweeps over the Haardt and Tau- 
nus mountains, the Odenwald and the Black Forests, 
and such towns as Mannheim, Speyer, and Worms. 
Both the Neckar and Rhine, as they sweep along 
through the fields and woods, can be traced here and 
there, when the sun sparkles upon their waters. Though 
the castle is shut out from view by the brow of a 
hill, the whole town lies uncovered at your feet. Far 
away as you are, you can distinguish its streets and 
houses. There is the spire of St. Peter's church, where 
before Luther's day Jerome of Prague preached the 
same doctrines for which at last he was burned at the 
stake. There, near the end of the principal street — the 
Haupt Strasse — is the long black roof, and old towers of 
the Helig Geist Kirche (Church of the Holy Ghost), 
made famous by a partition wall in the centre, on one 
side of which the Protestant form of worship is ob- 
served, while on the other the Catholic — now the Old 
Catholic — service is conducted. That wall must take its 
place in history as the primary cause of the Elector 
Philip's removal from Heidelberg to Mannheim. He 
determined to tear down this partition, and to give the 
whole church to the Roman Catholics, but he was re- 
sisted so firmly that he feared to execute his plan, and, 
smarting from his defeat, he took his court away from 
the town that had refused to do his will, just as the boy 
who owns the ball, puts it in his pocket and runs when 
the game doesn't go according to his mind. 

A little way further up the Haupt Strasse you see a 
square building with no architectural pretensions. It is 
the headquarters of the University. Nothing here sur- 



114 Saunterings in Europe. 

prises one who has been through the beautiful grounds 
and buildings of Harvard and Yale and Princeton and 
Oxford more than the entire contrast to these presented 
in the appearance of a German university. Placed usu- 
ally in the midst of a large city or town, the long plain 
buildings look more like barracks or city halls, than fa- 
mous seats of learning. Heidelberg is no exception to 
this rule ; and in a very few moments you will be ready 
to turn your gaze across the river, toward a very differ- 
ent-looking building, which is almost as well known as 
the University itself. It is the little Inn of the Hirch- 
grasse. Its white walls are just visible from where you 
stand. Here every Tuesday and Friday, with a regular- 
ity much greater than their attendance upon lectures, the 
students meet to gash each other's faces with a schlae- 
ger for a half-hour or so. They call this a duel. It is 
usually fought between members of different corps or 
societies. When a member is insulted, a challenge is 
sent to the insulter in the name of the whole corps. 
When the time comes for the combat, the accepter of 
the challenge may find himself face to face with a very 
different-looking man from the one he pushed off the 
sidewalk, or into whose eyes, in a moment of excite- 
ment, he threw a mug of beer. That path which you 
see above the Hirchgrasse, running along the side of 
the Heiligenberg, is the Philosopher's Way. It winds 
through vineyards, and so close to the edge of the 
mountain, that almost every moment, as you walk on, 
some new view of the town or river or valley opens be- 
fore you. One look more and we must return. See far 
out toward the horizon a dim, dark something : it is one 



A Day in Heidelberg. 115 

of the towers of the Cathedral of Speyers, on a curve of 
the Rhine more than ten miles away. See, too, the 
Neckar as it bends around the mountain and flows on 
through famous battle-fields and villages partly restored 
since their destruction in the Thirty Years' War, till at 
last it loses itself in the mightier current of the most 
beautiful river in Europe. 

We gazed on all this for a half-hour or more, which 
seemed only too short, and then hastened down toward the 
railway station. The German Emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm, 
on his way to visit his daughter, the wife of the Grand 
Duke of Baden, was to pass through Heidelberg early that 
evening, and to stop long enough to receive the congratu- 
lations of the city and military officials on his restora- 
tion to health, after Nobiling's almost successful attempt 
upon his life. I had imagined that in Germany, as in 
America, there would be no difficulty in mingling with 
the crowd, and seeing all there was to be seen. But Ger- 
many is not America, and an Emperor is not a President. 
There was no difficulty in mingling with the crowd, but 
the crowd was on the outside of a closed gate, where 
nothing but the engine of the royal train would be visi- 
ble. I was turning back in despair, when I saw two gen- 
tlemen, with an officer, making their way toward another 
door. Though no invitation was given, probably from, 
lack of time, I joined the party, and when the door 
swung open, we three walked in between two officials in 
gold lace, who looked at me somewhat suspiciously, but 
seemed at last to conclude that I was the representative 
either of New England or of the far West, and let me 
pass unquestioned. The black rafters of the railway 



ii6 Saunterings in Europe. 

station had been very prettily trimmed with German 
flags. The platform was covered — except a place left 
vacant in the centre — by flowers and broad-leaved plants. 
A company of a hundred or more Heidelberg officials 
and professors, all in full evening dress, was already 
gathered, waiting, with evident expectancy and nervous- 
ness, the coming of their distinguished guest. Two or 
three generals, in most gorgeous uniforms covered with 
stars and gold, and helmets with long nodding white 
plumes, and their staff officers with their attendants, per- 
haps a hundred in all, gave the scene that accompani- 
ment of military splendor, which is absolutely essential 
in Germany. Among this distinguished throng I step- 
ped, the most distinguished of all, by a business suit, an 
umbrella in one hand, and a paper bundle in the other ; 
but the powdered lackeys with great cocked hats evi- 
dently took this for some peculiarity of American full- 
dress, and said not a word. 

We waited ten — fifteen minutes. Even an imperial 
train is subject to detentions : might possibly have run 
off the track, but no : a rumbling sound, a round bright 
light comes nearer. We all straighten ourselves and 
look our best. The military band strikes up a national 
air, and as the Emperor's carriage rolls to the platform, 
three rousing German cheers, in which an American 
voice joined, shook the bright flags on the dark arches. 
Through the windows of a very handsomely furnished 
car we could see distinctly a man and woman standing 
by a little table, looking out, with smiling faces, upon 
us. Could this be the Emperor and Empress? I almost 
trembled as I looked, for I had never seen a crowned 



A Day in Heidelberg. 117 

head, and my republican heart was unaccustomed to the 
performance of its regular work in such a presence. A 
general who had won fame in the siege of Metz, stepped, 
with an assumption of boldness almost painful to be- 
hold, to the door of the car, threw it open, bowed till his 
long plumes touched the platform, and the mightiest and 
most famous of living rulers, followed by the Empress, 
stepped slowly out. He wore no crown, such as the im- 
agination insists so persistently in always placing on im- 
perial heads ; but instead, a military cap, not unlike that 
of the commonest soldier. The long robe lined with 
white ermine was missing, and in its place was a plain 
coat, distinguished from a civilian's only by a few pieces 
of red velvet here and there. For a man more than 
eighty years old, who has been shot at twice within a 
year; and once, only four months ago, seriously wound- 
ed, the Kaiser Wilhelm is indeed a marvel. His bright, 
friendly face showed no signs of the age or the pain 
which he had borne. If I had not known, I should have 
thought him to be between fifty and sixty. The only 
visible trace of Nobiling's attempt at assassination, 
was the sling in which the Emperor is still forced to carry 
one arm. The general who fought so well at Metz made 
a little speech of congratulation, and stepped aside. One 
of the professors then read a short address on behalf of 
the Heidelberg officials, expressive of their loyalty and 
love. The Emperor responded in a most simple and 
manly way, which quite won my heart, thanking them 
for this cordial reception, and alluding to his attempted 
assassination in a manner which would have made Hodel 
and Nobiling ashamed of themselves, could they have 



ii8 Saunterings in Europe. 

been present. After the speeches, he and the Empress 
walked along the line of professors and military and Gov- 
ernment officials, bowing and shaking hands with a hearti- 
ness which is surprising, when one considers how often 
they are obliged to go through the same performance. 
They stepped again into the car. The train moved slowly 
away. The band played as before, three more cheers 
went up among the flags, and the reception was over. 

I walked home with a Heidelberg Doctor of Philoso- 
phy, a man to whom no one with the slightest show of 
truth could apply the name of Pietist; yet to my re- 
mark " that since the events of the last few months the 
Emperor must live in constant dread," he answered in a 
tone which I thought had in it something of triumph : 
'^ The Kaiser is not the man to live in constant dread of 
anything ; he takes all proper precautions, but his relig- 
ious faith is so strong that he has no fear." With more 
than a hundred thousand Socialists in his Empire, many 
of whom are ready to take his life, this man, of whom 
Germany has a right to be proud, drives through the 
avenues of his metropolis unguarded, sleeps at night un- 
armed, and knows not from his own experience what the 
words mean : " Uneasy lies the head that wears the 
crown." 



CHAPTER XIII. 

A SUNDAY IN HEIDELBERG. 

Untranslatable Words — The Gervian ' ' Sonntag " — The 
Church of the Holy Ghost — Old Catholics — St. Peter's 
Rationalistic and Orthodox Churches — Sunday-schools — 
The English Church. 

THE growth of language has been, according to such 
natural laws, increasing in fulness and richness 
with the development of thought and feeling, that it is 
one of the most faithful and unbiased of historians. In 
spite of a thousand protestations to the contrary, no 
people has ever possessed virtues, or conceptions of vir- 
tues, for whose expression, sooner or later, words have 
not been coined. Words are but shadows of realities, 
but where there is no shadow, we need not look for the 
substance. When the people of Continental Europe 
can express only by whole sentences, and then but im- 
perfectly, the thought entwined among the letters of the 
one English word home^ the conviction becomes irresist- 
ibly strong, that the reality is wanting, or bears but a 
distant resemblance to the ideal. It is equally true that 
those peoples have no one word that conveys to them 
the impression which is brought to an English heart by 
Sunday. They have their Sonntag and Dimanchc, and 

(119) 



I20 Saunterings in Europe. 

while these point out a particular day in the most per- 
fect manner, there are depths of meaning in the English 
word which the Continental European can be made to 
feel only through a long explanation. The English 
Sabbath and the English home have their counter- 
parts in America, but not in France or Germany. The 
German workman thinks of Sonntag as a day perhaps 
of partial or complete cessation from labor. He sleeps 
through the morning, and after a nondescript meal in 
the middle of the day, of cheese, black bread, and a cup 
of coffee or a glass of beer, he sallies out with his 
whole family for some large beer-hall, where they will 
probably sit all the afternoon and late in the evening, 
listening to rude music, and paying for the privilege 
by one or two lunches of bread, cheese, and beer. 

For the orthodox church member, Sonntag means a 
religious service at 9.30 or 10 A.M., which lasts a little 
over an hour; Sunday-school from 12 to i, though only 
the most devoted and saint-like Christians include this 
in the programme ; a dinner party between 3 and 5 ; and 
the evening at the theatre or opera. There is a small 
number of so-called narrow Christians, who draw the line 
between the Church and the world so tightly that the 
Sunday opera and theatre are left out in the cold, as 
among the unlawful indulgences. 

For any one to hold up this picture of the German 
Sunday as it now is, and then to write under it an in- 
scription about '' a vast improvement in the last fifty 
years," etc., seems to an American almost laughable ; 
but if evidence is to be believed, some such inscription 
rightly belongs there. The public observance of Sunday as 



A Sunday in Heidelberg. 121 

a day of rest has increased somewhat every year of the last 
half century. Government employes have felt the change. 
Clerks in all the better class of shops now have the whole 
day, or a large part of it, to themselves. Descriptions 
of the English and American Sabbath have found their 
way across the Channel. They have come over the bor- 
ders uncondemned by the Press censor. A large num- 
ber of the most highly-educated Germans are in favor of 
some such observance of Sunday, merely on physiologi- 
cal grounds. There are some foreign elements of great 
value slowly being introduced into Sonntag. 

Heidelberg has been for four hundred years one of 
the centres of ecclesiastical conflict. In the days when 
Europe was under the dominion of the Pope, the voice 
of a Heidelberg Professor was raised against the corrup- 
tions of Rome, which were being forced upon all who 
were under her sway. Though his master, John Huss, 
had been burned outside the walls of Constance, not 
many days' journey there to the south over the Geisberg, 
Jerome, newly appointed to the chair of philosophy 
here, was bold enough to tell the great crowds gathered 
in the church-yard of St. Peter's what was in his heart. 
A hundred years later, Luther stopped in Heidelberg 
overnight when on his way to Rome. Devout servant 
of the Pope as he then was, he carried under the monk's 
gown a conscience that had already been awakened by 
some words he had read in an old book in his monastery 
at Erfurt. He seems to have addressed the students, 
but was not very hopeful of any good result, for he com- 
plained that they loved beer better than the water of 
life. A hundred years more and this little town, then al- 
6 



122 SAUNTERINGS IN EUROPE. 

most wholly reformed, and holding firmly to its Confes- 
sion of Faith and Catechism, was made to suffer for its 
creed. A strong Austrian army, sent against it by a 
Catholic Emperor, stormed the forts, forced its way into 
the town, and for three days the Geisberg looked down 
upon scenes but little less terrible than those enacted in 
the streets of Magdeburg. Modern Heidelberg has not 
been without its religious struggles. It was one of the 
strongholds forty years ago of a famous rationalistic 
school of theology. A brilliant corps of these negative 
teachers, represented by such men as Paulus and Gese- 
nius, entrenched themselves behind its university walls, 
and for a decade or more laughed in scorn at the heav- 
iest guns orthodoxy could bring to bear upon them. 
They yielded at last, and only half a score of what 
was once a multitude of followers remain. 

Within a few years Heidelberg was feebly agitated by 
a movement which showed for a time some signs of life. 
The Old Catholics took root here, and were permitted 
to hold their services in the most renowned church of 
the city. This stands in the heart of the town, by the 
famous market-place, and surrounded by buildings, some 
of which are of great historic interest. This Church of 
the Holy Ghost, as it is called, is, next to the Castle, the 
best-known edifice in Heidelberg. The story of its life 
runs back more than six hundred years. For centuries 
it was the Westminster Abbey of the Palatinate, receiv- 
ing under its stone pavement the dust of numberless 
princes and heroes. But the most critical era in its ex- 
istence was the seventeenth century. It passed then, in 
rapid succession, into the hands of Catholics, Lutherans 



A Sunday in Heidelberg. 123 

and Reformed. Just at the close of the century, a most 
remarkable compromise was agreed upon. The church 
was divided by a thick stone wall, on one side of which 
the Catholics, and on the other side the Protestants, 
were to worship, each in their own way. Some twenty 
years afterward, a Catholic Elector thought he was 
strong enough to pull down this wall, and give the whole 
church to the Romanists ; but there fell around him such 
a shower of brick, and mortar, and angry words, that not 
only was it necessary to rebuild the partition, but the 
unhappy cause of the commotion, in a fit of anger at 
his failure, determined to quit the town forever. The 
Protestants still hold possession of their part. In just 
what way the Catholics were either persuaded, or driven 
to give way I do not know ; but in the place where they 
worshipped so long the Old Catholics are now installed. 
Having felt, as nearly all Protestants do, some inter- 
est in these Christians, who were courageous enough to 
break from Rome, I attended one of their services. It 
was Sunday forenoon, at 9 o'clock — an early, but very 
popular, hour for church services in Germany. The con- 
gregation was by no means large enough to suggest the 
probable necessity, at some future day, of removing the 
partition. Neither was it so very much smaller than 
the one I saw at a somewhat later hour gathered in the 
Protestant half. There was scarcely anything to dis- 
tinguish this Old Catholic, from a Roman Catholic serv- 
ice, with the very important exception that the lan- 
guage, not only of the sermon, but of the prayers and 
hymns, was that of the people. The priest wore highly- 
embroidered robes — perhaps the work of his wife, for he 



124 Saunterings in Europe. 

had just been married ; little boys, also robed, bowed 
before the altar, rang their bells, and swung incense ; 
the Host was elevated, but instead of kneeling in ado- 
ration, as in the Romish churches, a congregational hymn 
of praise was sung. Under these multitudinous forms, 
it was possible to detect, I thought, something of that 
feeling of independence, of individuality, and of individ- 
ual responsibility, which distinguishes the members of 
the Protestant from those of the Romish Church. 
Whether this movement is destined to fulfil in any way 
the hopes of its friends, or to die either a sudden or 
lingering death, as its enemies have hoped, and not a 
few of its well-wishers have feared, will be decided in the 
next few years — perhaps in the next few months. 

Among the Protestant churches of Heidelberg, St. 
Peter's, around whose walls the crowds gathered to hear 
Jerome, holds the most prominent position. Not only 
is it first in historical and architectural interest, but in 
the size and influence of its present congregation. It has 
a somewhat indefinite relationship to the University. 
A Professor of Theology is one of its pastors. All large 
German churches have two or three ministers connected 
with them. He is the author of a Life of Christ, writ- 
ten, so I am told, from the standpoint of moderate 
rationalism. The old truths, which swept with such 
power over the hearts of the multitude in the church- 
yard when Jerome spoke, are not often heard now by the 
congregation gathered within its walls. A Russian lady, 
who had often been present when this Professor occupied 
the pulpit, said to me that she usually came away, after 
listening to one of his sermons, " with a decreased love 



A Sunday in Heidelberg. 125 

for all there is in the universe, and for the One who 
made it." V^ry few positive emotions or virtues are the 
fruits of negative preaching. 

In a little chapel about half a mile away from St. 
Peter's, another Professor — connected with the Gym- 
nasium or highest school of the city — is temporarily sup- 
plying the pulpit, and expounded a very different type 
of theology. I attended one Sunday morning, and found 
an unusually large congregation present. When I en- 
tered there was no one in the pulpit, but the congrega- 
tion was singing a hymn with great heartiness. When 
it was finished, a middle-aged man, dressed as Professors 
ordinarily are in America, entered the pulpit and offered 
a short invocation. The absence of the gown, universally 
worn here, was not more noticeable than the pulpit itself, 
which instead of being perched, like the nest of some 
monstrous bird, high up against a pillar, was a simple 
desk only slightly raised above the people. The tone of 
this service was not only Protestant, but of the same 
type of Protestantism we have in America. If English 
instead of German had been used, there would have been 
scarcely anything to distinguish it from one of our own 
Sunday morning assemblages. This chapel, I afterward 
heard, has no connection with the State Church of Ger- 
many, and to this doubtless is due its similarity to our 
own free churches. 

Though I made a number of inquiries, I heard of but 
one Sunday-school in Heidelberg."' This has its session 
in the afternoon, and if I was correctly informed, is at- 



* I have since learned of another. 



126 Saunterings in Europe. 

tended ordinarily only by those who are preparing for 
the examination before confirmation. It is composed, 
as far as I could discover, of what in our American 
Episcopal churches would be called the confirmation 
class. As confirmation is here made by the law obliga- 
tory, so also is attendance upon this school. Whether 
the hymn " I'm glad I'm in this army " has ever been 
translated into German or not, I can not say ; but if it 
has, it could scarcely be sung in such a school with very 
great heartiness. 

In the summer a Scotch Presbyterian service is held 
in Heidelberg, but it was discontinued on the 1st of 
October, for the winter ; so that I had no opportunity 
of attending any of the meetings. The only other En- 
glish service here is held in a chapel under the charge 
of the Church of England. It has a regular pastor, or 
chaplain, and differs in no way from a multitude of 
churches within a half hour's ride of London. This re- 
mark should perhaps be qualified, so far as to except 
that very important part of a church — the congregation. 
There are but few English towns where so many varie- 
ties of people can be found in any one assembly. I saw 
here, one day, representatives of England, Scotland, 
Germany, Russia, and America. Our own country, 
through our Consul at Mannheim, whose home is in 
Heidelberg, has a voice in the government of this 
chapel. In his judgment, the hope of Germany, relig- 
iously, lies largely in the establishment of similar chapels 
by the Church of England, or the American Episcopal 
Church, in which the services shall be conducted in Ger- 
man. The people here are tired, so it is said, of all the 



A Sunday in Heidelberg. 127 

old religious parties that have been fighting against each 
other for the last three hundred years ; but they stand 
ready to welcome any Church that shall come to them 
with the Bible held in hands that have never been 
stained with blood in religious wars. There are such 
Churches in the world, though the Establishment of 
England may not be able to meet the conditions. May 
it not be that from Scotland, or from America, this land, 
in which Protestantism was born and cradled, shall re- 
ceive strong, fresh blood for the quickening and steady- 
ing of a dull and irregular pulse? 




CHAPTER XIV. 

WORMS, FRANKFORT, WIESBADEN, AND MAYENCE. 

The Luther Monument — Scenes of the Niebelungen-Lied 
— Goethe^ s Birth-place — The Gennadi Saratoga. 

AY is the most beautiful month of the year in 
Heidelberg, but the splendors of September are 
scarcely less glorious. The mountains which stand like 
gigantic protectors on each side of the town, clothe 
themselves then, with their most fantastic garments of 
varied colors. The Neckar laughs itself into great rip- 
ples at this transformation of its two majestic friends. 
The heavens glow with a soft brightness whose wooings 
are almost irresistible. One must practice self-denial 
to study any other book than this gorgeously deco- 
rated volume whose illuminated pages lie everywhere 
wide open. Even the language which the white heat of 
Luther's soul, and the mighty blows of his great heart 
and brain welded into form, and the genius of Goethe 
and Schiller polished into brilliant elegance, would be 
unable to rival the most ancient and richest of tongues, 
did not duty come to its aid. With a very fair knowl- 
edge of Heidelberg and its surroundings, and with a 
knowledge of German which had suffered no decrease 

in the month spent there, I started for Berlin the second 

(128) 



Worms, Frankfort, Wiesbaden, Mayence. 129 

week of October, In order to be present at the beginning 
of the university term. The railroad runs along the banks 
of the Neckar to Mannheim, where the smaller river 
is swallowed up by the greater, without a cry or a strug- 
gle. It was here that Schiller, who had fled penniless 
and downhearted from the court at Stuttgart, which was 
rapidly becoming his prison, found a refuge from the 
despotic duke, who had been displeased with the drama 
of " The Robbers," and enraged at its author for having 
made, without his consent, a visit to Mannheim, to see 
this first product of his brain placed upon the stage of 
the then somewhat famous theatre of the city. Even 
for those who are not enthusiastic over every spot which 
was the scene of some of the great German poet's strug- 
gles with adverse fortune, and who are not interested in 
the huge unsightly pile of buildings which is pointed 
out as the palace, Mannheim has something of impor- 
tance from the fact that it is the seat of an American 
Consulate, and that the present occupant of this office, 
a gentleman from Rochester, N. Y., is untiring in his 
efforts in behalf of his countrymen, and ever ready to 
render them every assistance in his power. 

As there is little to be seen on the Rhine before reach- 
ing Mayence, I bought a railroad ticket for Worms. It 
was impossible to go through this very commonplace 
process, without being reminded, by the almost laughable 
contrast, of Luther's journey toward the same city, and 
his well-known determination to enter it, though every 
tile on the roof should have its representative devil in 
the streets. It cost something to go to Worms then, but 
now the payment of a few marks secures you a luxurious 
6^ 



130 Saunterings in Europe. 

ride to Its gates, through which, whether Lutheran or 
Romanist, you enter unhindered, and unnoticed. In a 
beautiful square just at the portals of the city, stands one 
of the finest monuments which has yet been erected to 
the memory of the Great Reformer. On a massive plat- 
form of bronze, whose sides are adorned with reliefs de- 
scriptive of the marked epochs in his life, is the statue of 
Luther, far larger and more majestic, like his fame, than 
the man himself, when he wore obediently the monk's 
gown, or threw off the cowl to flash his defiance at a 
power whose corruptions had stung him into resistance. 
Around him are the faces and forms of princes and schol- 
ars, whose names will shine in the immortality of his own. 
Philip the Generous, of Hessen ; Frederick the Wise, of 
Saxony, are here honored with the place by his side, 
which they were generous, and wise, and brave enough to 
take, when the monk's foes were many, and his friends 
few. Huss and Savonarola, Wickliffe and Peter Waldus, 
the men who laid the foundations upon which Luther 
built, are sitting at his feet. Great statues of Melancthon 
and Reuchlin perpetuate the names of his two most 
famous co-laborers. Stretching away from each side of 
this monument, encircling the whole city, is a beautiful 
walk. In Luther's day the massive stones of a great ram- 
part filled the place now occupied by this boulevard. The 
transformation is typical. The truths of freedom and 
humanity which the reformer preached till they filled the 
air with a deep roll like that of thunder, would level high 
repelling walls by removing the necessity for their exist- 
ence, and on the earth which had been made useless and 
barren, would plant flowers and trees that men might re- 



Worms, Frankfort, Wiesbaden, Mayence. 131 

joice in the sweet breath of the rose, and the grateful 
shelter of the linden. 

It is scarcely a walk of five minutes from Luther's 
monument to the cathedral. Like the origin of some 
of the European peoples, the early history of this vast 
edifice and of the still more ancient church which it is 
supposed once stood upon the same spot, is lost in the 
bogs and marshes of myths and legends. Some of these 
towns were built in the days when knights, covered with 
heavy armor, rode up and down through the land, rob- 
bing the rich and rescuing the poor. One of the most 
famous scenes in that somewhat mysterious group of 
old German poems calls the Niebelungen-lied, took place 
under the shadow of these spires. For it was here that 
Brunhilde and Chrienhilde met and quarrelled. Their 
fierce questions, and angry words, doubtless fright- 
ened from their perch under the roof, some of the 
ancestors of the pigeons that to-day sit unmolested, 
cooing so contentedly. It needs perhaps as much study 
to give an opinion of any value of one of these old 
cathedrals, as of the paintings of the masters. This, 
at Worms, is ranked by competent critics with those 
of Speyer and Mayence, as among the finest in Ger- 
many. It needs no study to appreciate something of 
the grandeur of its massive proportions. 

There is but little else to be seen in Worms. The hall 
in which Luther spoke the words that are graven upon 
his monument, " Here I stand ; I can not do otherwise ; 
God help me," was long ago torn down to make room for 
a very beautiful modern villa. You can imagine, if you 
are so inclined, that it was through this or that street the 



132 Saunterings in Europe. 

monk, who was soon to be the best known man in Europe, 
went back from the council, cheered by his friends, and 
hissed by his enemies. Or you can walk to some of the 
old ruined gates of the town, and wonder through which 
it was that King Gunther of Wottan's song, rode out 
with his troop of knights to attack and rob the returning 
hero, and through which, on the next day, with bleeding 
wounds and with only the faithful Hagen by his side, the 
defeated monarch re-entered the city. But all of this will 
take only a few hours. We are ready then for something 
more tangible. Keeping still to the railroad, we rush on 
through Darmstadt to Frankfort. Here I took time 
enough for a hurried ride through the city, a glance at 
the statues of Schiller and Goethe, and a visit to the 
house in v/hich the German Shakespeare was born. 
Fortunately I had once seen a picture of this house, 
or I should have fallen a victim, either to the igno- 
rance or the deception of the hackman. He stopped 
before a very modern-looking structure, apparently 
what we would call a French flat, and said, " Here 
Goethe was born." I looked over the doorway, but 
the inscription which I knew ought to be there was 
not there, and a passer-by whom I questioned pointed 
down the street, and said it was about a block away. So 
I rode on, wondering how many Americans had gone 
out of Frankfort thinking of the French flat as the 
Goethe house. A few moments and I read by the dim light 
of the street lamps, the words cut in white stone at the 
entrance, which made me much more confident that the 
right place was reached at last, than the renewed assur- 
ances of the hackman, who, I think, had never before 



Worms, Frankfort, Wiesbaden, Mayence. 133 

heard of Goethe. The house was dark, but I rang the 
bell with the hope that some one might be within hear- 
ing distance. The door was soon opened and my very 
polite request to see the house, was as politely refused. 
Only at certain hours of the day were visitors admitted ; 
never in the evening! Then I told how I had crossed 
the great ocean, had come here into the heart of Europe 
as an American pilgrim to the shrine of genius ; to re- 
turn without having been in Goethe's house would cast 
a shadow deep and dark upon my remembrance of the 
journey ! Against such eloquence, and the jingling of a 
few silver coins, the heart of the door-keeper was not 
proof. He showed signs of yielding. " But the rooms 
are all dark," he said. I showed him a match-box, at 
which he smiled and led the way. He soon found a 
candle, as I knew he would, for they abound in German 
houses, by whose flickering light I could see that the stair- 
case we ascended was of polished oak, and that the whole 
aspect of the place gave evidence of its having been, in 
its day, one of the finest mansions in Frankfort. 

Now that the ice v/as broken, my guide was in most ex- 
cellent humor. He showed me all the rooms ; the one in 
which, as the clocks struck twelve at noon on the 28th of 
August, 1749, the poet was born ; the one in which as a 
boy and a young man he studied and wrote ; the apart- 
ments of his parents, and those in which many pictures 
and relics are preserved with almost sacred care. The 
old man was a great enthusiast. From his standpoint, 
the world has thus far been honored by the presence of 
but three people of any great importance: the father 
and mother of Goethe, and the poet himself, and the 



134 Saunterings in Europe. 

first two appeared to have a high value in his judg- 
ment, simply as necessary to the existence of the third. 
When we had seen the rooms somewhat thoroughly, and 
had reached again the large hall of the entrance, he took 
me, with a chuckle of delight, to the place where on the 
wall were a number of certificates attesting the fact that 
certain well-known men had been made members of the 
Goethe Club, to which the house now belongs. He was 
chuckling because the country from which I told him I 
had come, had been lifted into his horizon by this honor, 
the highest of which he could conceive, having been con- 
ferred upon one of its citizens. He held the candle up 
so that I could read a name which since that night has 
been written on the imperishable roll of America's fallen 
heroes ; a name which kings and emperors have spoken 
with unfeigned regret at his untimely death ; honored 
alike in literature and the State, the name of Bayard 
Taylor. " He has been here often," said the old man, 
and v/hen I told him that he was now preparing for his 
greatest work, a life of Goethe, he held the candle up 
again and read the name himself v/ith unaffected rev- 
erence. Multitudes in every land have read it in the 
last month with a deeper reverence, colored by an in- 
expressible sorrow. 

It was nearly nine o'clock as I took the train for 
the short run from Frankfort to Wiesbaden, where 
I was to spend the night. Late as it was when we 
reached this German Saratoga, there were still some 
signs of the life v/hich at certain hours of the evening, 
at the height of the season, is as free and impetuous, 
perhaps also as unthinking, as the hot leaping waters 



Worms, Frankfort, Wiesbaden, Mayence. 135 

of the springs. Early the next morning I rode through, 
and around the town. The great hotels of Saratoga are 
not here, but Nature has been very kind to Wiesbaden, 
and man has made such good use of her gifts that one 
can scarcely imagine a more delightfully charming little 
town. The German Emperor found its attractions so 
great last summer, that he spent many weeks here. The 
hills around the town at sunrise were brilliant in brown 
and gold. The green grass in the great park by the 
Kursaal was covered with bright falling leaves. The 
pretty little lake threw back from its smooth face, in- 
verted pictures of trees and villas. From some of the 
higher parts of the road we could look down on the long 
white line of mist hanging over the Rhine. I felt that 
an apology was due the place for rushing away after 
such a superficial view of its beauties, but the last of the 
first-class steamers to make the Rhine trip that year, was 
already getting up steam at the dock in Mayence, and 
with a long look of admiration and regret I turned away. 
Fortunately for me, it is the general opinion that there 
is not much to see in Mayence, except the cathedral, 
for there was only an hour before the departure of the 
steamer. The time was short, but it was long enough 
to listen to part of the service which was being conduct- 
ed in the nave of this great church, and to ascend to the 
roof from which a view, as beautiful as it is extensive, is 
to be had. The guide knew that I was in a hurry, and 
talked very fast as he pointed out the objects of interest 
in the city and along the river, but I found, as soon as 
we began to descend the stone staircase, that his feet 
could go as fast as his tongue. Taking two steps at a 



136 Saunterings in Europe. 

time, he went around the sharp curves as if he thought 
I was a lost spirit upon his track. He knew just where 
to dip his head, but we were going so fast that I hadn't 
time always to see what he did, and once or twice, judg- 
ing from my own feelings, some of the lower arches were 
badly injured. But we reached the floor at last, and 
jumping into the carriage which was waiting, in ten 
minutes I stood on the deck of the steamer, just in time 
to hear the last bell rung, and to see the plank drawn in. 
There were some twenty-five sight-seers sitting on 
benches and chairs under the awnings, and with the ex- 
ception of two or three who had evidently been down 
the Rhine before, they were all intently studying pano- 
ramas of the river, and books of old legends about its 
castles. I took my place at a little table which was 
soon covered with maps and guide-books, and there we 
must rest awhile, though the wind is playing among the 
leaves and threatening every moment to tear away some 
important pages with its strong fingers. 



CHAPTER XV. 

DOWN THE RHINE. 

An Historic Panorama — ^^Fair Bingen " — Bishop Hat to' s 
Mouse Tozucr — Crusaders' Homes — The Lorelei — An 
Echo — Germany's Gibraltar — Drachcnfels — Cologne Ca- 
thedral. 

SIMULTANEOUSLY with the first strokes of our 
steamer's paddle-wheels, as we swung out from the 
dock at Mayence, interjections and exclamations of en- 
thusiastic delight broke from the lips of the entire fem- 
inine portion of the passengers on deck, and from not a 
few mouths encircled by beards and mustaches. The 
Rhine has concentrated its splendors between Mayence 
and Cologne. There is scarcely room sufficient in this 
short distance for such multitudinous glories. Not only 
both banks, but even the islands are often as lavishly 
bedecked with beauties as an Oriental princess with jew- 
els. A few puffs of our engine and we were in this land 
of enchantment. Contrary to the expectation of some, 
the captain did not take his place at the bow to explain 
to his passengers the legends and historical associations 
of the places we were passing. On the contrary, he hid 
himself, with a wisdom learned probably by many sad ex- 
periences in his early days, when eager crowds had gath- 

(137) 



138 Saunterings in Europe. 

ered around him frantically pelting him with a thousand 
questions in languages whose names even he did not 
know, and mingling in the same sentence their admira- 
tion for the Rhine, and their apprehension for their bag- 
gage. 

Thirty years ago a young American lad who had 
left New York with less than $200, to see Europe on 
foot, and who had stood half famished on the docks of 
Liverpool, the morning of his arrival, eating ginger-bread, 
came up the Rhine on his way into Germany. This 
young lad was Bayard Taylor. He had been as eco- 
nomical of time as of money, and had so studied the 
Rhine that each place was to him like an old friend. 
He looked almost with contempt at the crowds reading 
the legends of the places they were passing, half losing 
the reality in the attempt to understand the description. 
I was struck by the same thing, but, alas ! I was obliged 
to take my place with these unfortunate crammers. I 
knew some things about the Rhine, but nothing com- 
pared with the things I did not know. If there was any 
Bayard Taylor on board that day, I have no doubt he 
pitied me, if he saw me at all behind my pile of books. 
I can sympathize with him, for I pitied myself not a lit- 
tle. There were many times when it was impossible to 
read fast enough to keep up. The scenes were changed 
before you were half satisfied with looking at them, or 
reading about them. Our only consolation — a Christian 
one — was that the people who were being whirled over the 
railroad track along the shore were very much worse off 
than ourselves. 

On a little island just below Mayence, v/hich seemed 



Down the Rhine. 139 

to be anchored directly in our pathway, the Emperor 
Louis, the son of Charlemagne, breathed out his life, 
more than a thousand years ago. That cluster of 
houses on the right bank of the river, called Biebrich, 
was the favorite summer residence of the Dukes of Nas- 
sau before the Prussians ejected them in 1866. Fur- 
ther down the river is a town, also once the home of 
monarchs. But Eltville is prouder to-day of Gutenburg 
and his printing-press, than of King Gunther or King 
Charles. Almost opposite, though not immediately on 
the banks of the Rhine, is a village of only a few hun- 
dred inhabitants, yet rich in the possession of a most 
famous ruin. In was here, in Ingelheim, that Charles 
the Great, whose name we have Latinized and Angli- 
cized till it has become Charlemagne, had a palace in the 
year 800. This royal residence is associated with some 
of his most noted w^ords and deeds. Two of the polish- 
ed stone columns which stood at the entrance through 
which the great king so often passed, are to-day in 
Heidelberg, in the Elector's ruined castle. On the crest 
of this hill, in the distance, is the throne of a mightier 
monarch than Charlemagne or his Ceesarean predeces- 
sors. Here, on Johannisberg, Bacchus in his most re- 
fined and elegant form has long held his court. Here 
his servants press from the grape the most luscious of 
wines. Johannisberg is a household name to multitudes 
who have never heard of Ligelheim. But there ahead 
of us Bingen, " fair Bingen on the Rhine." It was 
to her that the brave soldier who " lay dying in 
Algiers" gave his last thoughts. We spent the time 
while passing in trying to discover some particular beau- 



140 Saunterings in Europe. 

ty in the town : in which we failed, and in trying to re- 
member something more of the poem about the Alge- 
rian soldier, in which, though aided by two Englishmen, 
we met with similar success. But we have no time to 
mourn. Here, in one of the numerous guide-books 
spread wide open and held in their places on the table 
by field-glasses and satchels, is a long poem about 
Bishop Hatto and his Mouse Tower, and there — every 
one rises to look at it — is the tower itself. Southey's 
rhymes over the poor bishop, it is said, have Avon im- 
mortality rather from their musical jingle and delicate 
humor than by the embodiment of any large amount of 
truth. In fact, the tower was probably built some two 
hundred years after the bishop had been lying quietly in 
his grave. Nevertheless, we read the lines with just as 
much interest, and rather expected to see, climbing up 
the sides, some of the descendants of the rats who took 
it upon themselves to pick the bones of this great ec- 
clesiastic, because he had not only refused corn to the 
famishing people, but had burned a multitude of them 
in one of his great barns as a sort of huge practical joke. 
As we look ahead, and see that every hill-top has its 
castle, and every castle has its legend, we feel as one 
might into whose hands grains of gold and precious jew- 
els unnumbered, were every moment falling, and the 
wide-open palms were not large enough to hold a tithe of 
the treasure. On the one side is the ruined castle of 
Ehrenfels. The great halls and towers v/here the arch- 
bishops of Mayence retired in times of danger to a luxury 
as elegant as it was secure, are now torn and ragged. 
The bright-leaved ivy clinging to the broken walls, hugs 



Do\vN THE Rhine. 141 

the stones as if in a pitying caress. On the other side is 
beautiful Rheinstein, restored and refitted by a Prussian 
prince ; it is one of the favorite summer residences of the 
Empress of Germany. After the first glimpse, there was 
not a person on board who would not cheerfully have 
changed his plans, to spend a few days here, if her Maj- 
esty had so suggested. But the only sign made to us as 
we passed, was the waving of handkerchiefs by the serv- 
ants from the balconies, and we could scarcely interpret 
this as a pressing invitation to make the castle our tem- 
porary home. Here is the ruined church of St. Clements, 
erected, as most of these were, by a rich countess, 
miraculously delivered from the hands of a cruel knight. 
There, up the steep face of the rock, is the ladder built in 
one night by a good old witch, that brave Sir Hilgen 
might ride to the rescue of the beautiful daughter of 
Sibo, imprisoned on the heights above by mischievous 
dwarfs. These stone nest-like castles on the hieh cliffs 
were the homes of the bravest of the crusaders. It was 
out of these now broken windows, that fair hands waved 
the parting to the mailed warrior, riding toward the holy 
city. It was of this river and of these castles that the 
wearied knight, sleeping under some Syrian palm, or on 
the hard floor of a Saracen prison, dreamed till his eyes 
were full of tears, and he awoke to grasp his sword, or to 
clutch his clanking chains. While he fought against 
Saladin, or suffered torment in some enemy's dungeon, the 
Rhine rushed on as before, and on those heights above, 
human life, with its loves and hates, worked still so 
mightily, that the home the knight had left was not 
the home that would await him should he ever return. 



142 Saunterings in Europe. 

Around these soldiers of the holy wars, and their, for the 
time, unprotected castles, history, aided by the imagina- 
tion, has woven a thousand tales of romantic adventure ; 
or, sweeping further backward still, the old Roman whose 
camps can be traced on these peaks, is made the hero of 
the story. 

But now we all look away from castles and churches, 
and peer over the side of the steamer at seven rocks 
in the river. Every one on board knows the origin of 
these stones, and some of the gentlemen smile mean- 
ingly, and some of the ladies blush ; for these are the 
petrified forms of the beautiful damsels who lived up 
there in the Schonberg castle, and who broke the 
hearts of all the brave young knights in sight of 
this peak. At last vengeance in the form of a strong- 
armed fairy overtook them. They were cast, scream- 
ing, into the river, and became instantly as stony as 
their hearts had always been. That such an event has 
never occurred either on the Hudson or the Niagara, is 
perhaps due to the fact that in so young a country seven 
such daughters have never yet been found in any one 
house. That high rock opposite, Lorelei, has given its 
name to many a pretty steamer on our own lakes. Many 
a foolish fisherman and sailor, so says the well-authenti- 
cated legend, has been dashed from its top by the cruel 
siren who had made her home there, and drew these 
thoughtless ones to her side by the beauty of her face, 
and the exquisite skill with which she played upon the 
lyre. The rock is made by the students of the present 
day to serve a somewhat different, but scarcely less cruel 
purpose. It is a renowned place for echoes, and when 



Down the Rhine. 143 

the students shout before it, " Who is the Burgomaster 
of Oberwesel?" the nearest town, the only answer that 
comes back is " Esel," the German word for a beast of 
burden, whose disposition is as stubborn as his voice is 
unmusical. 

We pass more than a score of ruins, and the magnifi- 
cently restored castle of Stolzenfels, when we see before 
us a bridge, and a city, and a great fortress. This is 
beautiful Coblentz, beneath whose walls sweep two rivers, 
the Rhine and the Mosel. That is " Germany's Gibral- 
tar," the impregnable fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. Off 
here, a little way to the right, is the famous watering- 
place of Ems, the scene of the first act in the Franco- 
Prussian war, the decisive interview between Benedetti, 
the representative of Napoleon III., and Wilhelm, the 
Prussian king. But we rush on by other crags and castles, 
and ruined convents and churches, till the poor nerves 
that have been carrying for hours these countless im- 
pressions from the eye to the brain are wearied. Other 
nerves, with more commonplace, but equally important 
functions, are making loud demands which are not to be 
unheeded. We go below to eat. It is frightfully incon- 
gruous, but human life is largely made up of incongrui- 
ties. We have seats by the window, and while one hand 
does duty with the fork — though all the Germans use a 
knife instead — the other grasps still the faithful guide- 
book, and we strive, with but moderate success, to satisfy 
at the^ same moment our ccsthetic and stomachic long- 
ings. We go on deck again somewhat refreshed, and 
ready for what one of our English friends calls " the neat- 
est bit of scenery on the canal." He was a whole-souled, 



144 Saunterings in Europe. 

good-hearted beef-eater, and was so enthusiastic over this 
particular point in the river which we would soon reach, 
that he rather insisted upon our shutting up books and 
field-glasses, and not looking at anything else till we came 
to it. He consented that I, as an American, should be 
allowed to read the description from Childe Harold, in 
which Byron has woven around these rocks of the Dra- 
chenfels some lines of poetry which drip like luscious 
grapes with sweetness. There is not one letter-writer in 
a thousand that has self-denial enough not to quote them. 
I now proceed to join myself with the majority without 
making even the slightest effort to resist : 

" The castled crag of Drachenfels 

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
Whose breast of waters broadly swells 

Between the banks which bear the vine ; 
And hills all rich with blossoQi'd trees, 

And fields with promised corn and wine, 
And scattered cities crowning these, 

Whose far white walls along them shine. 
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see 

With double joy wert thoii with me." 

Byron evidently refers by the accented thou to his 
courier, who had probably missed the boat at Coblentz. 
I had scarcely finished reading the several verses of the 
poem — the one quoted above is perhaps the most beau- 
tiful — when we turned one of these windings of which 
Byron speaks, and there before us were the rocks of 
which he so sweetly sang. My English friend was some- 
what disappointed. He had come up the river the day 
before when the sun was bright. The view is acknowl- 
edged to be less beautiful from the side where we now 



Down the Rhine. 145 

were, and the dull light gave to the landscape something 
of the appearance of a beautiful picture poorly hung. 
But I had never seen it before. For me it was all, and 
more than all that I had imagined. Standing together 
like old battle-scarred knights templar, were the seven 
sharp high peaks of the Siebengebirge (seven mount- 
tains). Four of the summits were covered with massive 
ruins. Nearest of all, rising from the banks of the Rhine, 
was the lofty crag of the Drachenfels. Here, for centu- 
ries, perched generations of robber knights. Sitting 
there like huge king-fishers, they were always ready to 
swoop down and strike their long claws into the rich 
cargo of any vessel working her way, either up or down 
the stream. The deep cavern in the face of the rock, 
into whose black mouth we try in vain to look as we 
pass by, was once the home of a fierce dragon — whence 
the name Drachenfels or dragon rock — which the hon- 
ored Siegfried slew after a long, hard battle, and bathing 
himself in its blood became invulnerable. Regretfully 
we swept on, looking longingly back at the beautiful 
fading vision, till we were called to look ahead at one of 
the fairest of all the Rhenish towns. A little poem has 
given to Bingen a romantic interest, which Bonn, though 
the possessor of innumerably more charms, is not able 
to excite. Many a traveller steps but for a moment on 
the dock, just to say, '' I have been in Bingen," but no 
one ever gets out at Bonn, unless they expect to stay. 
I would gladly have stopped overnight to see something 
of this attractive place, and to visit the famous univer- 
sity, but if the plan already formed was to be carried out, 
there was nothing to be done but to keep steadily on to 
7 



146 Saunterings in Europe. 

Cologne. The twilight soon deepened into a gloom 
which only the pilot's eye could pierce. But we had no 
desire to complain, for between Bonn and Cologne there 
are few attractions for one who has seen the upper part 
of the river. The heavy thud of the trip-hammers in 
the factories on the outskirts of the town, and the glim- 
mer of a multitude of lamps along the quays, were un- 
mistakable signs that we would soon be in the old 
Roman city, where Csesar had a fortress to which the 
half-dozen fugitives fled that escaped from the terrible 
defeat of the legions of Varus, by Hermann, the first 
German hero. ^ 

There may be people living In Cologne — I doubt not 
there are— who have never heard of the Cathedral. They 
may have walked a thousand times through the shadows 
of its arches, and statues, and spires, yet they have never 
felt interest enough to make any Inquiries concerning it. 
But for a foreigner to think of Cologne, is to see rising 
before him a forest of carved stone, surrounded perhaps 
In his imagination, with Innumerable barrels and hogs- 
heads of perfumed water. Next to St. Peter's at Rome, 
this Is said to be the most magnificent church in the 
world. It is an embodiment In solid marble of beauty 
and grandeur. It gives reality and tangibleness to these 
somewhat vague conceptions. 

Whether it be due to that tendency of the German 
mind which seeks the origin of the ancient and ma- 
jestic in myths and legends — this has been their ex- 
planation of the oldest Hebrew and Greek manu- 
scripts — or to a very common and natural bent of 
the human intellect through which, for our own pride's 



Down the Rhine. 147 

sake, we would rather give the honor of a marvellous 
work to a mysterious superhuman being, than to a man 
of flesh and blood like ourselves ; certain it is, that not 
to architectural genius, but to supernatural ingenuity, is 
the credit supposed to be due for the plan of this stu- 
pendous edifice. As the story goes, the inventor was 
walking one day by the Rhine, trying to think out some 
design which should be sufficiently grand, and sketching 
his thoughts in the soft sand at his feet. At last he was 
satisfied, and said, " It shall be like that." '' Oh, I will 
show you a much better plan," said a voice behind him, 
and in turning he saw the figure which has become fa- 
miliar to the readers of Faust, and to the users of pro- 
fane language. With his cloven hoof, this newly found 
friend drew the outlines on the beach with startling 
rapidity and skill. But he had met his match in this 
plain German workman. He was made to explain mi- 
nutely every detail, for the trembling architect knew that 
probably his own soul would be the price of this knowl- 
edge. Then he said to Mephistopheles, as he suddenly 
thought of a way out of the difficulty, "Your plan is 
not quite satisfactory, I will not take it." The soft voice 
of this hoof-footed visitor became a rough roar. He saw 
that he had been outwitted. " You build your cathedral 
according to this plan," he shrieked, " but you will never 
finish it." This was seven hundred years ago. The 
Satanic threat was not vain. Though multitudes of men 
have worked upon it for hundreds of years, the Cathe- 
dral has never been finished. Now, as if in despair, the 
authorities have apparently turned once more to the 
outwitted but revengeful author of the design. The 



148 Saunterings in Europe. 

tickets of a gigantic gambling scheme, called the " Co- 
logne Cathedral Lottery," arc sold in every town of the 
empire, and the profits form a church building fund. If 
the famous black gentleman is ever influenced by flat- 
tery, and by humble appeals for his assistance, we may 
soon expect that the curse will be removed, and the great 
cathedral completed.* 



* This prophecy has since been fulfilled. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

FROM COLOGNE TO EISENACH. 

The Home of the Hessian Mercenaries — Eisenach and 
The Warthnrg — Relics of Martin Luther — The Story 
of Fair Elizabeth — The Widow Cottas House. 

THE last objects that caught the eye, as the railway- 
car whirled us out of Cologne into the heart of 
Germany were the massive flying buttresses, and tall 
spires of the beautiful cathedral. It was pleasant to 
have such an impression stamped upon the heart at the 
moment when the Rhine, which we had learned in one 
day to love, was being left far behind. In a few hours 
we passed through Elberfeld, whose fair fame the winds 
have swept into every corner of the earth. No renowned 
galleries or cathedrals are here. It is the birthplace of 
no poet, statesman, or reformer, but it is the only city 
in the world of more than 150,000 inhabitants, from 
whose streets and purlieus organized charity has driven 
organized pauperism. It is a long, but not uninteresting 
ride, from Elberfeld to Eisenach. You may look out 
of the window for hours and see nothing that could be 
called majestic, or soul-stirring, even by one carrying a 
permit for the use of poetical license. But it is a scene 
of which you do not quickly tire. There is sufficient 

(149) 



150 Saunterings in Europe. 

variety In the landscape to relieve the monotony, while 
every tilled field and peasant's house has its special in- 
terest for one who wishes to see something of the every- 
day life of these light-haired, strong-limbed Germans. 

The scenery increases rapidly in beauty as you approach 
Cassel. It is impossible to look upon these rich mead- 
ows and sloping hill-sides without seeing them trampled 
again by the armies of Germanicus and Herman, the still 
fiercer mounted hordes of the Huns, the Swedish soldiers 
of Gustavus Adolphus, and the Austrian troops of Wal- 
lenstein. An American, too, can scarcely forget that the 
Hessian mercenaries, sent by English gold to crush out 
the new-born life of the republic across the sea, came 
from some of these homes. But when he remembers 
their fate at Trenton, and that their defeat was, in fact, 
the turning-point of the conflict, he feels no enmity in 
his heart toward these white-haired boys, perhaps their 
grandchildren, playing by the road-sides, or digging, like 
little men, in the fields. Most of us find it easy to prac- 
tice the virtue of forgiveness toward those whom we 
have outwitted and thoroughly beaten. If there still 
lingers in the heart of any American the slightest bitter- 
ness toward the Hessian dukes, the thought of the great 
sorrow which has come to the present bearer of the title, 
in the death of his royal wife, the Princess Alice, will 
transform that unworthy emotion into sympathy. 

Cassel, the old capital of the Hessian electorate, pre- 
sents a most attractive appearance, even from the rail- 
road. Though the removal of the court to Darmstadt 
has deprived it of the peculiar interest which attaches to 
a princely household, the activities of the town are said 



From Cologne to Eisenach. 151 

to have greatly increased since its possession by Prussia. 
The palace, called the Bellevue Schloss, an immense 
building, v/as the residence some seventy years ago of 
one of Napoleon's home-made monarchs. King Jerome. 
Its picture gallery, where Murillo, Paul Veronese, Rem- 
brant, Rubens, and Van Dyck are well represented, 
is one of the greatest attractions of the town. We 
stopped here only a few moments, and then rushed on 
toward Eisenach. 

The twilight had almost faded as we entered the 
town. The street lamps were being lighted when we 
drew up before the hotel, but with a few words of ex- 
planation to the polite landlord who came out to wel- 
come us, I walked rapidly up the hill-side, which he 
had pointed out, toward the Wartburg castle. Oh ! ye 
hero worshippers, ye lovers of brave men who have 
battled manfully for the truth, would not your hearts 
beat fast, think you, as you trudged along alone in 
the darkness toward the castle where Martin Luther, 
the bravest of all the sixteenth century knights, found 
for ten months a refuge and a home ? Many a time 
the tall, strong Saxon monk, had walked and ridden 
over this very road. Many a time he had seen the night 
settle upon these mountains, and had watched the glim- 
mer of the lights in Eisenach. The forests around him 
were scarcely more thickly studded with trees, than was 
Germany with his enemies. But his thoughts are not of 
them as he looks. His heart is filled neither with fear, 
nor the hope of revenge. He is pondering over the 
giant's work to which he has devoted these days of con- 
cealment. The word of his Master is to be interpreted 



152 Saunterings in Europe. 

to the people in the language of the household. He has 
become once more — this rough monk as men call him — 
as enthusiastic a student of Greek, as Erasmus himself. 
He will place the book which has inspired his life in the 
hands of every reader in the empire. A turn in the road 
shuts out all signs of Eisenach. There is but one light 
anywhere to be seen, the dim light of a candle from one 
of the windows of the castle. I hurry on, and in my 
eagerness for a moment lose the way, but quickly find it 
again, and over the broad gravelled approach, come soon 
to the entrance of the castle. Here, with muskets and 
swords, standing quietly in the gloom, I found two sol- 
diers on guard. The Grand Duke of Weimar sends his 
watchmen here, not because he fears that robbers may 
sack his castle, but, unwatched, perhaps in an hour this 
treasure of untold worth to multitudes in every land 
would be turned to ashes. I was glad to find these men 
on duty, but my emotions were soon turned into another 
channel by their assurances that the castle could not be 
visited at so late an hour. Yet there was a mighty feel- 
ing in my heart that I must go in, upon which their 
words had no effect whatever. A little way from the 
castle I saw the lights of what was perhaps the custo- 
dian's house. I knocked on the door ; it was quickly 
opened by a man, a woman, and several children. I pre- 
sented my request in the politest and most confident 
manner that I was able to command, with the limited 
amount of breath at my disposal after the climb up the 
mountain. The first answer was a point-blank refusal. 
I made another speech, not so much with the hope that 
they were to be won over by eloquent bursts of oratory 



From Cologne to Eisenach. 153 

as that they might be wearied into yielding by persist- 
ency. " But," said the woman — oh, what hope there 
was in that '' but," — '^ if we give you the keys you must 
go to the guide in the castle, and he won't let you in." 
I handed her some money — the time for eloquent acts 
had come — she turned and brought a lantern for her old- 
est boy, the husband meanwhile protesting in a moder- 
ate way, and behind this brave leader I marched safely 
between my old friends, the soldiers, through the great 
stone gateway into the court-yard of the castle. I could 
see, by the dim light, that I was standing on the spot 
where Luther, in the famous oil painting of the scene, 
is represented, disguised as a knight, dismounting from 
his horse. We went on over the stone pavement to an 
iron door, which my guide tried in vain to unlock. Then 
he whistled, and shouted " Johann ! Johann ! " till a win- 
dow opposite was thrown up ; some explanations fol- 
lowed, and very soon the regular guide of the castle ap- 
peared in a somewhat heterogeneous uniform, cariying 
another lantern, and evidently not inclined at that par- 
ticular moment to take an over-cheerful view of life. But 
I laid something in his hand that went at once to his 
heart and tongue. He brightened up instantly, searched 
rapidly for the proper keys, and very quickly the stout 
door swung back, and I was in the Wartburg Schloss. 
We walked a few steps and stood before a series of fres- 
coes commemorating the life of St. Elizabeth, who lived 
here some seven hundred years ago. Here she stands, 
giving bread to the poor of Eisenach, who have already 
canonized her in their hearts. Her fierce husband rides 
up and demands what she has in her apron ? " Flowers," 



154 Saunterings in Europe. 

is her answer ; and when he grasps the silk, to convict 
her of falsehood, a miracle is wrought — the loaves of 
bread are changed to roses. 

The seven frescoes are beautifully painted, and the 
guide, finding that his descriptions were received with 
the proper enthusiasm, explained the connection of each 
with the holy saint's life, and was greatly delighted when 
I was at once able to recognize some of them from 
having read the story of her sad, and triumphant experi- 
ences. We went next into a great room filled with ban- 
ners, and stacks of arms, and coats of mail. You may 
have seen the counterpart of all this in the tower of 
London, but there is a greater intensity of realness and 
of interest here, for not only have these weapons, and 
these sets of armor once been in actual use — as were 
probably those in London also — but many of them 
have been worn by their owners in this very room. 
These lances have fought battles in the valley of Eise- 
nach. Some of these spears have once been carried by 
iron-gloved hands through the gates of this castle. 
From these mementoes of bloody warfare, we ascended 
to one of the most beautiful and most interesting halls 
in Germany. In Wagner's Tannhauser, which is almost 
as well known in America as here in the composer's fa- 
therland, the climax is reached in this hall where the 
German troubadours contested for the laurel crown, and 
the hand of the princess. The fair Elizabeth, whose 
fate is there so soon to be decided, sings as she enters 
alone before the contest : '' I greet thee once more, thou 
beauteous hall ; joyfully I greet thee, thou beloved room." 
On this throne sat the Landgrave and his noble niece, 



From Cologne to Eisenach. 155 

and here — the frescoes on the wall immortalize a similar 
contest — stood, and sang, Tannhauser, winning the hearts 
of all, except the rival singers, till in an unfortunate mo- 
ment he chants the praises of Venus, whose home was 
supposed to be in one of these mountain caverns, and 
is driven out in disgrace to join a band of pilgrims on their 
way to Rome. 

We pass on into a room, the scene of somewhat dif- 
ferent contests ; it is an exquisite little chapel. Luther 
often preached from that high pulpit during those 
months when he was compelled to make the Wartburg 
his home. The guide told me to go up into it, if I 
wished, and I did not hesitate to accept the invitation. 
If only standing in Luther's pulpit could make one a 
Luther ! We descended now a flight of steps, walked 
toward another part of the castle, ascended the stairs 
of what seemed to be a turret, and entered the Wart- 
burg's most sacred shrine. This was Luther's room. 
It has not been changed since the moment he left it. 
This is the chair on which he sat ; this the table that 
held his books, and papers, as he wrote steadily through 
those ten months upon his translation of the Bible. There 
he knelt to offer yearning prayers. On that narrow bed he 
threw himself, when nerves and brain were wearied with 
intense effort. Against that wall, so says a legend which 
will long perpetuate the ingenuity of its inventors, the 
inkstand hurled by Luther at the head of the evil one 
who had come to tempt him, shattered in a thousand 
fragments, leaving a stain which the hands of relic-hunt- 
ers have transformed into a great hole. A man con- 
secrates the ground he treads, the tools he handles, the 



156 Saunterings in Europe. 

workshop in which he labors. That man, Martin Luther, 
has made this Httle chamber a thrice holy place. One 
can understand in the Wartburg, how a young lad visit- 
ing these scenes, in the midst of a great celebration on 
the three-hundredth anniversary of the Reformaton, 
should have felt the blood stir more quickly in his veins, 
should have consecrated the full strength of his man- 
hood to telling once more the story of the reformer, and 
his work. He succeeded so well, that as the '^ fall of the 
Roman Empire " suggests the name of Gibbon, so the 
" history of the Reformation " suggests that of Merle 
A'Dubigne. 

It was so dark when we went again across the court- 
yard to the little house where I had found the boy 
with the keys, that I accepted most willingly the offer 
made by a peasant to accompany me back to Eisenach 
with a lantern. He had not read many books, but he 
had read the translation made in that little room of 
the Wartburg. " The German peasants," says some 
one, " began to learn to read, as soon as there was a 
book ready for them worth the trouble." Those ten 
months, when a strange young knight who was known 
as "Der junge Georg" worked steadily with a pen, 
which was indeed mightier than any knightly sword, 
have had an influence beyond all computation, not only 
on German character and destiny, but upon all civilized 
people and lands. Early the next morning before the 
humble household had quite finished the friihstiick of 
black coffee, and still blacker bread, I rang the bell of 
the so-called Luther house. Any one who has ever read 
the '' Schonberg-Cotta Family " — and those who have not 



From Cologne to Eisenach. 157 

should do so — would find it impossible to leave Eise- 
nach without crossing the doorway where the young 
lad Luther, who had sung so sweetly amid the falling 
snow in the street, received from the widow Cotta the 
alms for which, with his schoolmates, he had been sent 
out to sing, and beg. But this good widow gave more 
than alms. She gave a pleasant home to the boy during 
the remainder of his stay in Eisenach. My request that 
morning, instantly granted, was to see the room in which 
those years were spent. It has remained, so it is said, 
untouched since the day Luther left it for the university 
of Erfurt, except by the gentle hands of the centuries 
which have each left some impress upon the rude desk, 
and chairs, and pictures. It is a pleasant room still. It 
must have seemed wondrously so to young Martin, away 
from the comforts of his Mansfield home. 

I had no time to visit, as I would have liked, another 
house in Eisenach but little less interesting to multitudes. 
In a plain tablet upon the front the figures 1685 are cut. 
Here was born that great one who is still among the 
most honored of that noble band of German composers 
who have scattered everywhere, like singing birds, their 
exquisite melodies. There are but few names among 
these, that will live longer or be spoken by future ages 
w^ith greater reverence, than that inscribed upon the tab- 
let of this house in Eisenach — Johann Sebastian Bach. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

A GLIMPSE OF WEIMAR, LEIPSIC, AND WITTENBERG. 

The German Athens — The Houses of Goethe and Schiller 
— A Court Preacher — A Battle-field and Cellar — Where 
Luther Lived — A Famous Door — The Graves of Luther 
and Melayichton — First Vietv of Be^din. 

FIFTY years ago the little town of Weimar, on the 
banks of the Ilm, was the most famous city in North- 
ern Germany. The Prussian and Saxon capitals were 
ten times as large, and were royal capitals ; but the 
grand duke was honored when the kings were almost un- 
known. Weimar was then called, by unanimous con- 
sent, the German Athens. Within a few minutes' walk 
of the royal palace of Charles Augustus, were the homes 
of Herder, and Wieland, Schiller and Goethe. Between 
Eisenach and this miniature metropolis, we passed 
through but one place of any special importance, the 
town of Gotha. This, too, is the residence of a grand 
duke, yet the interest which attaches to it, for English and 
American travellers, is largely due to the fact that it was 
the home of one who became the Prince Consort of Eng- 
land's Queen, and whose life, so pure, and noble, and royal, 
honored alike the nation of his adoption, and the nation of 
his birth. In English palaces, and cottages, there is sin- 
(158) 



Weimar, Leipsic, and Wittenberg. 159 

cere mourning still for the untimely death of this Ger- 
man duke. Weimar lies so low in the valley that as you 
step out of the railway carriage you look down on the 
tops of the houses and even the spires of its churches. 
A thoroughly modern avenue, with modern restaurants 
and private residences, leads down to the old town— to 
the business centre— if such a term can be used of a city 
that is noted for the absence of all trade, and manufac- 
tures. Rambling through the place, with no guide but 
a small map, I stumbled first on the monument of Wie- 
land. It was worthy of more attention than I gave it, 
but when one is looking for the houses where once lived 
the authors of "Faust" and " Egmont," of ''Don Car- 
los " and "Wallenstein," even the statue of a Wieland 
has few attractions. I was now very near one of the 
objects of my search. Turning a number of unnecessary 
corners, and passing through some unnecessarily dirty 
streets, I stood before the door of Goethe's house. 

It was a plain wooden structure, of moderate size, not 
unlike a score of dwelHngs that might be found in any large 
New England village. I pulled a peculiar-looking bell, and 
heard a mournful gingle, as if the house were unfurnished 
and empty. Alas ! I soon found that it was too full 
to admit even one traveller, though an American. The 
servant who opened the door, showed no signs of 
pleasure at my request to see the home of the great 
poet. Her reply was short but decidedly to the point. 
"The house belongs to Goethe's nephew,"— I think 
she said, though I was too disconsolate to remember 
the exact relationship. "No one is admitted." I 
suggested some extenuating circumstances in my case. 



i6o Saunterings in Europe. 

I tried the method usually so successful with fortune- 
tellers, and servants, but the victory was one of which I 
had no cause to feel proud. I was only permitted to 
enter the hall, and look around with the vain effort to 
see something where there was nothing to be seen. But 
I had been in Goethe's house, and as the servant looked 
as if I had been there long enough, I buttoned up my 
coat, trying to imagine that I was sixty years old, had 
just finished writing one of the most subtle speeches of 
Mephistopheles, and was now on my way to see Schiller 
and talk over with him the plot of William Tell. 

Some three hundred yards away I found Schiller's for- 
mer home. Fortunately he had no nephews to claim the 
lawful right of shutting themselves in, and every one else 
out. The door stood wide open, and as ringing and 
knocking received no response, I walked in and showed 
myself around. It is smaller than Goethe's house, Vv^hich 
Jean Paul once called a palace, but large enough to satisfy 
the modest tastes of Germany's most popular poet. I 
scarcely felt that the open door was a tacit invitation to 
inspect anything more than the first story, but I was quite 
certain that a little room filled with relics was, or ought to 
have been, Schiller's study. That, perhaps, was the writ- 
ing-desk before which he sat, and whose drawers were al- 
ways kept full of rotten apples, '^because," as his wife 
explained to Goethe, who had nearly fainted from the 
strong odor, "he can not work without this scent." In 
this large room, it may be, the poet lay down upon the 
bed from which he was never to rise. Here, perhaps, it 
was, that on the 8th of May, 1805, while uttering in his 
unconsciousness, broken sentences of Latin, he fell asleep, 



Weimar, Leipsic, and Wittenberg. i6i 

and " in that sleep a great life glided from the world." 
Not little Weimar alone wept when the brain that 
had been the abiding-place of such exquisitely beautiful 
thoughts became forever silent ! All \vho spoke the 
German tongue, yes, all who loved the true, the beauti- 
ful, and the good, mingled their tears with those of 
Goethe and Charles Augustus. 

I walked through a number of uninteresting streets to 
the banks of the Ilm, where stands the grand duke's pal- 
ace. Two soldiers, in the ducal uniform, slowly paced 
before the entrance. I would gladly have gone in to 
see the rooms dedicated to the memory of Wieland, 
Herder, Schiller, and Goethe, and decorated with the 
paintings of scenes from their lives, or their works, but I 
was more anxious still to see the mausoleum where side by 
side Goethe and Schiller lie. I went at once to the ceme- 
tery, some little distance from the palace. On the way, 
scarcely a minute's walk from the Schloss, I passed the 
old church made famous by Herder's Pastorate. It was 
at Goethe's request, it is said, that this preacher, better 
known for his philosophical, than his theological writ- 
ings, was called to Weimar. Whatever religious tone 
Weimar had in those days when Goethe was its real 
king, was due to Herder's influence. His name is still 
one of its treasures. Very unfortunately, when I reached 
the cemetery, the custodian who carried the keys of the 
mausoleum, could not be found. I was sorry not to be 
able to stand by the enwreathed coffins of these mighty 
men of literature. Friends have told me that in no 
other spot on earth have they ever felt, as there by the 
dust of Goethe and Schiller, how great is human intellect, 



i62 Saunterings in Europe. 

how transitory is human Hfe. Not far away lies the 
Grand Duke, Charles Augustus, the royal friend of the 
two poets. I walked back through the beautiful park that 
lies along the Ilm. Here, at twilight, Goethe loved to sit 
under the trees, or stroll by the beautiful little river. In 
the depths of these woods was the cottage where he 
spent some of the happiest months of his life. It was 
walking here, one July day in 1788, that a maiden, with 
bright eyes and rosy cheeks, handed him a petition on 
behalf of her brother, a young author. She not only 
won her request, but the poet's heart as well. She step- 
ped that day among the historical characters of the 
world, where as Goethe's wife she still holds her place. 
Whatever term may be applied to Weimar itself, Wei- 
mar's park is certainly very beautiful. It was a lovely 
October afternoon when I looked upon it. A soft pur- 
ple haze lay upon the hills around the town, bright spot- 
ted leaves covered the path, rustling under the feet of 
the passers-by. A great fleet of these was floating on the 
river, like richly-colored galleys of some fairy Cleopatra. 
Weimar might well be proud of her park, even if no 
Goethe had ever lived in its recesses, or walked along its 
smooth, winding paths. 

It takes but a few hours to ride in an express train 
from the little town famous for the making of books, to 
the large town famous for printing them. This is the 
centre for the German book trade. In ordering books 
in Heidelberg, I was often obliged to wait till they 
could be received from Leipsic, and in the great German 
capital I have had several times the same experience. I 
was so eager to reach Berlin, that I spent but one morn- 



Weimar, Leipsic, and Wittenberg. 163 

ing here. I rode with some American friends around the 
city, and through a park, which the Leipsic people think 
compares favorably with that of Weimar, and out through 
a suburban village where Schiller wrote one of his shorter 
poems. I was obliged to postpone till another time a 
visit to the battle-field, where more than a hundred 
thousand men lay dead on the 19th of October, 1813, 
when Napoleon suffered at the hands of the allied Aus- 
trians, Russians, and Prussians his first great defeat. 
In one of the side streets of the town we stopped and 
looked into the most renowned cellar of the world. 
Under the name of " Auerbach's' Keller," it was made 
by Goethe the scene of the meeting of Mephistopheles, 
Faust, and the Leipsic students. As they sit around the 
plain board table they are thirsty for wine, as German 
students have since been known to be. Mephistopheles 
calls for a gimlet, and while the students sneer, he bores 
holes in the table and sings : 

" Grapes the vine-stock bears, 
Horns the great goat wears, 
Wine is sap, the vine is wood, 
The table yieldeth wine as good. 
Your stoppers draw and drink your fill." 

They obey, and the wine ordered by each flows spark- 
ling into his glass. Ill-humored people say that Leipsic 
is about equally proud of the battle-field, and of Auer- 
bach's Keller. 

After a glance at the university, a number of stat- 
ues to poets, and generals, and some of the finest pub- 
lic buildings, I took the train for Wittenberg. In Eise- 
nach I had been among the scenes of Luther's boy- 



164 Saunterings in Europe. 

hood, in the Wartburg among those by which he was 
surrounded during the latter months of his long, fierce 
struggle, but in Wittenberg the first battles of the Refor- 
mation were fought. Here Luther struggled with self, 
with old associations, with the friends of earlier days, 
with a thousand doubts and uncertainties, before pope 
or bishop had heard the name of the Saxon Monk, or had 
learned that this Wittenberg professor was breaking off 
the shackles he had worn from childhood. Near the old 
walls of the town my attention was attracted by an oak 
tree along the roadside, surrounded by a little garden and 
enclosed by an iron railing. Stepping over this low fence, 
which had evidently suffered the same indignity many 
times before, I read the inscription on the tree which de- 
clared that here, on the loth of December, 1520, Martin 
Luther had publicly burned the papal bull sent out by 
Rome against his teachings and himself. I tried to pic- 
ture the scene that was enacted under those branches on 
that day in mid-winter, some 350 years ago; a great 
crowd of peasants, merchants, princes, monks, students, 
and knights encircling the oak ; a multitude of women 
and children looking down from the wall, the young 
monk professor in his black robes, the centre of all eyes, 
the fire of brush lighting up the anxious faces of the men 
who knew the full import of the deed about to be com- 
mitted ! One of the masters of arts throws into the 
flames the false Decretals, and the forged epistle of St. 
Clement. When these have been burned to ashes, Mar- 
tin Luther himself steps forward, and solemnly lays the 
pope's bull of excommunication on the fire, saying, " As 
thou hast troubled the Lord's saints, may the fire destroy 



Weimar, Leipsic, and Wittenberg. 165 

thee." They walk slowly back through the town, but the 
fire burns on till the red glow of its flames against the 
sky is seen all over Germany, and England, and France, 
and Italy. I passed through the same gate, the Elster 
Thor, through which the crowd came out, and re-entered 
on that December day, and found immediately upon my 
left the buildings of the old Augustinian monastery, where 
a large part of Luther's life was spent. 

Walking through into the court-yard and across to a 
house on the other side, an exceedingly polite peasant 
woman answered the bell, and showed me Luther's apart- 
ments, with as much enthusiasm as if she had never be- 
fore seen them herself. She pointed out the room where 
Luther had first lived as a professor of theology before 
he was known as a reformer, and then the larger rooms 
which he occupied with his wife and children, after the 
crisis had passed and he came back here, able then to 
call this whole house his own, through the liberality of 
the elector, Frederick. His study stands untouched, with 
its great green tile stove, its table and arm-chair. Many 
of the world's greatest scholars and kings have entered 
this room and looked around them with something more 
than curiosity. On the wall, protected by a glass cover- 
ing, is a signature, written in chalk by the hand of the 
Russian Tzar, Peter the Great. We went also into a large 
hall where the monks used to eat in the monastic days. 
It serves now as a picture gallery, where oil paintings of 
all who took part in the Reformation cover the walls. 
On the same street, scarcely as far away from Luther's 
house as Goethe's from Schiller's in Weimar, is the former 
home of Luther's most zealous helper and dearest friend, 



1 66 Saunterings in Europe. 

Philip Melanchton. In those troublous days this portal 
was like a haven of rest for the reformer, beaten on every 
side by innumerable cares and perplexities, Melanchton 
understood the work that was to be done, the peculiari- 
ties of the man who was trying his best to do it. There 
was one place, this house of Melanchton's, where Luther 
could open his heart without fear. 

A little way further on, in the busy market square, is a 
colossal statue of Luther, his bared head now protected 
from the storms as it never was when great thoughts and 
purposes dwelt there. Near him, as he stood to the last, 
is Melanchton. Around the pedestals of these monu- 
ments surge the tides of trade. One can but hope that 
beneath the shadows of such men, both buyer and seller 
practice a stricter honesty than that which is sometimes 
found in the marts of commerce. A modest house in the 
corner of a square was pointed out by my guide as the 
one in which Lucas Cranach, among the most celebrated 
painters of his day, lived and worked. His brush has pre- 
served for future generations the features of nearly all the 
reformers. We come now to the end of our Wittenberg 
pilgrimage. It is an old church near what was once the 
elector's palace. It is known in history as the Schloss- 
kirche, or, as we would say, the castle church. In the 
evening of the last day of October, 15 17, Dr. Luther, as 
the Wittenberg people always called him, walked quietly 
through the street toward this church. He carried in his 
hand a packet of papers. He was hurrying, some thought 
to keep a lecture appointment. He stopped by the 
wooden doors, that then occupied the place now filled by 
plates of metal. He unrolled his parchment, as if in a fit 



Weimar, Leipsic, and Wittenberg. 167 

of absent-mindedness he was about to read a lecture in 
the vacant church-yard. But he does not read ; he 
places the parchment against the door, and tacks it there 
with nails that have held it up for 300 years before the 
face of the world. When the people gather for early Mass 
the next morning, a student translates to them the Latin 
of these ninety-five Theses. Soon all Wittenberg has 
read these denunciations of Tetzels' indulgences. Soon 
the printing-press has caught them in its iron jaws, and 
scattered them all over Europe. The doors upon which 
Luther struck those blows, which have not yet ceased to 
echo, were burned in 1 760. The King of Prussia, Frederick 
Wilhelm IV., replaced them in 1858 by thick metal, with 
the Theses in the original Latin stamped upon them. 

I went into the church through a side entrance. The 
twilight threw only dim shadows across the long aisles. 
We had neglected to bring with us a light, but as the 
guide lifted an iron door in the pavement, I read, by the 
uncertain flickering of a burning match, the inscriptions 
upon a brazen slab over the graves of Philip Melanchton 
and Martin Luther. Beneath the pavement which they 
so often trod, where crowds gathered to listen to their 
burning words, which were indeed " half battles," only a 
few feet apart they lie, quietly resting after the fierce 
struggles of life. Weimar has still its Schiller and Goethe, 
Wittenberg its Melanchton and Luther, but their vic- 
tories, won though they were in such contracted spheres 
of action, are alike the inheritance of the human race. 

Late that evening the first stage of my European 
journey ended as I entered the Prussian capital. 

Berlin was the first great city I had seen since leaving 



1 68 Saunterings in Europe. 

France. The drive that night through its long, well- 
Hghted streets reminded me more of our own metropolis 
on Manhattan Island, than of either Paris or London. But 
this resemblance ceases after the first superficial view by 
the light of the street lamps. There are more stone 
houses in one New York block, than I have yet seen in 
Berlin. There are more stuccoed buildings on one 
street here, than I think you can find in all America ; 
but I can say without any such doubt, that there are 
more officers here than we have in the whole United 
States. They are everywhere, like the frogs of Egypt, 
swarming upon the streets, in all the cafes, restaurants, 
and hotels. The click of their swords, the jingling of 
their spurs, are sounds that, like the roll of wagons in 
the busiest avenues, seem never to cease. They add 
greatly to the brilliancy of the city. In glittering uni- 
forms, with spurs upon their heels, swords at their sides, 
and polished helmets upon their heads, reflecting the 
scene like a mirror, they walk up and down Unter den 
Linden like great birds of gorgeous plumage from the 
tropics. They are picked from the German nobility, 
and a finer-looking body of men, with the exception of 
the Emperor's lackeys, it would be difficult to find any- 
where. May the day never come when the streets of 
New York shall glitter with helmets, and resound with 
clanking sabres, like the streets of Berlin. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

BERLIN. 

- The Old Prussian, the Modern German Capital — A His- 
torical Retrospect — The A ttractions of the Great City. 

THOMAS CARLYLE, In his life of Frederick the 
Great, has touched, with that wondrous pen of 
his, all the more important events which influenced the 
foundation and development of Prussia. He takes us 
back over paths which none but he could ever have 
found, to the very beginnings of this North German State. 
He shows us, all along the way, a thousand incidents 
which would have escaped our notice in any light less 
strong than that which he has flashed upon them. From 
the hour the first missionary to these rude, warlike tribes 
was beaten down by clubs, and fell with outstretched arms, 
stamping the earth with the form of the cross, the land, 
so Carlyle believes, was consecrated. Each century that 
followed revealed more clearly the destiny which this 
once half savage people was to fulfil in the history of 
Europe. Out of the haze which covers these North 
Germans, rises slowly a well-defined and tangible power. 
A family called Brandenburg is steadily increasing in in- 
fluence, and forcing its weaker neighbors into a sullen 
8 (169) 



I/O Saunterings in Europe. 

obedience to some of the most fundamental laws con^ 
cerning life, and property. In 1224, when the kings and 
nobles of Southern Europe were busy fighting the Sara- 
cen in Palestine, these margraves issued a document 
from their capital of Brandenburg, in which the name of 
a little fishing village on the Spree is first mentioned. 
The name appears more often after that, for the village 
grows rapidly, takes its place soon, even as a city in the 
famous union of towns, the so-called Hanseatic league, 
and is also the seat of so many outbreaks and bloody 
broils, that history is forced to give some attention to 
this young aspirant for place and fame. But a family 
still more powerful than that of Brandenburg is coming 
up from South Germany, sent by the Emperor to take 
possession of this margravate, or little dukedom, and to 
compel both nobles and burghers to respect two or 
three very simple and very necessary laws. This was in 
141 1, some years before the future discoverer of America 
was born. A few weeks ago they celebrated in this 
same Berlin and all over Germany the eighty-third 
birthday of one of the members of this family of Ho- 
henzollern, and the cheers that were offered were not 
for a petty margrave, but for a great emperor, the Kaiser 
Wilhelm. 

The coming of the Hohenzollerns into Brandenburg 
was, by no means, welcome to the nobles who had been 
doing for years about as they pleased, with all who were 
weaker than themselves. Some of them openly resisted, 
but their castles were torn down, and they themselves, 
the worst of them, hanged on the tallest of their own 
trees. From that time the history of Berlin and of 



Berlin. 171 

Brandenburg, which afterward became Prussia, merges 
into that of this house of Hohenzollern. As the elector 
Joachim II., who represented this family in 1539, sym- 
pathized with the new doctrines which were being first 
preached in the little town of Wittenberg, not sixty 
miles south of his own capital, and as the majority of 
his people were one with him in thinking the times 
called loudly for great reforms, they cast in their lot 
with Saxony, which had already become decidedly Prot- 
estant. A hundred years later their towns and villages 
suffered scarcely less from that most frightful of all re- 
ligious struggles — the thirty years' war — than the cities 
of South Germany itself. Frederick William, the father 
of the first king, and who is known as the Great Elector, 
when he began to rule in 1640, found the work of resto- 
ration sufficient to occupy all the first years of his 
reign. His energy was not exhausted with the comple- 
tion of his task. He founded a new city across the river 
from the old, and named it in honor of his wife, the 
Dorotheenstadt. The Berlin of to-day is very largely 
a development of this. Its most famous street, Unter 
den Linden, had its origin when Frederick William cut 
down a forest which then covered the ground, and plant- 
ed the rows of lindens, whose branches now shade the 
finest shops, and most magnificent palaces of the German 
capital. 

In 1 701 Berlin took a great step forward. The elect- 
or, Frederick HI., had been planning and working for 
many a year, for the right to replace his electoral by 
a royal crown. The Emperor had at last given a re- 
luctant consent, and with a retinue of some twelve 



1/2 Saunterings in Europe. 

hundred knights and ladies, Frederick and the elector- 
ess set out over the snow for the old capital of Ko- 
nigsberg-. Here the crowning took place, in such splen- 
dor and with such elaborateness of form, that, as his- 
tory records, the newly-made queen openly yawned, 
to the intense surprise, and indignation of the newly- 
made king. Berlin now became the chief city of a king- 
dom, and as might have been expected, rapidly de- 
veloped under this new blaze of glory. Two academies, 
one of art, the other of science, very soon made their 
appearance. Old public buildings were improved, and 
many new ones erected. The first of the now numer- 
ous equestrian statues was placed on the stone bridge 
over the Spree, in honor of the great elector. The 
second Prussian king, Frederick William I., believed 
that bigness is the essence of all greatness. He was de- 
termined that his capital should have this kind of great- 
ness at whatever cost. He used compulsory means for 
the enlargement of the city. He even paid large sums 
out of his own purse, which for a man of his parsi- 
monious habits was an overwhelming proof of his sin- 
cerity. But his admiration for quantity without any 
reference to quality was most marked in the reorganiza- 
tion of the army. The king had set his heart upon hav- 
ing the tallest regiment in the world. He sent his agents 
everywhere with orders to pay any price for men seven 
feet high. Berlin was soon full of giants, any one of 
whom would probably have fled precipitately before a 
brave little soldier of half his size. 

No one was more amused with this peculiar taste than 
the king's son. Himself small of stature, Frederick H. 



Berlin. 173 

was possessed of a spirit which, as the future showed, 
made him more than a match for many giants. What- 
ever his thoughts were, he was obhged to be very 
guarded of his words, lest the thick stick with which his 
father was in the habit of rapping the big shoulders of 
some of his guards, should descend on his own, for all the 
boyhood and early manhood of him whom men now 
call Frederick the Great, and for whom the most beauti- 
ful mounted statue in the world has been erected on 
Unter den Linden, were passed in fear of his father's un- 
controlled temper. Frederick loved music, and his fa- 
ther hated it, and broke over his head the flutes which his 
royal son knew how to use with considerable skill. Fred- 
erick wept when his father died — who has not heard of 
tears of joy? — and then threw away his flutes, new ones 
and broken ones, that he might have both hands free for 
other work. This young man, whom even his friends 
looked upon as but little more than a second-class ama- 
teur musician, was about to show himself to be the 
greatest general of his age. Only a few months passed 
before those delicate fingers that were thought fitted 
only to play upon the stops of a flute, tore the province 
of Silesia from the strong grasp of the Austrian Queen, 
Maria Theresa. For seven long years this monarch of a 
little insignificant kingdom — for such Prussia had always 
been — defied the mightier powers of Europe, defeated 
their armies, held to the last, in spite of all their efforts, 
the rich prize he had clutched, and at the close of the 
struggle, to show his enemies that his treasury was not 
exhausted, built a magnificent palace at Potsdam. 

His successor, Frederick William II., had a much more 



1/4 Saunterings in Europe. 

quiet and less eventful reign. Before his death the little 
fishing village on the Spree had become a city of nearly 
two hundred thousand inhabitants. The streets had 
been greatly beautified, and some of the finest speci- 
mens of architecture of which Berlin can yet boast had 
been completed. But the darkest days the Prussian 
capital has ever known were just ahead. A young 
French lieutenant was winning fame and promotion 
south of the Pyrenees. Even when this lieutenant had 
become a general, and this general was gaining victories . 
so rapidly that new battles were fought, and won, before 
the report of the old one had been read in the north, 
Prussia saw nothing in this to excite her apprehension. 
But when this general had crowned himself Emperor of 
France, as Napoleon I., then not only England, but 
Austria, and Prussia too, began to be afraid. They had 
good reason. The army of Frederick William IIL, 
the successor of Frederick William II., was utterly 
broken, and crushed by Napoleon at Jena, in 1806, 
only nine years from the beginning of his reign. The 
queen, as famous for her beauty of character as of 
person, was forced to flee to Konigsberg with her chil- 
dren. There, in an interview with Napoleon, so it is 
said, her heart was broken by the indignities the proud 
victor heaped upon her, and by the hard conditions of 
peace he demanded. The most terrible hour in the 
whole history of Prussia was that in which Napoleon's 
army marched through the Brandenburg gate, and along 
Unter den Linden to the old Palace. Sixty-four years 
later, the son of the broken-hearted Queen Louise, at the 
head of a Prussian army, marched under the Arc de 



Berlin. 175 

Trlomphe at Paris, and along the Champs Elysees to 
the Palace of the Tuileries. If only Napoleon and 
Louise could have lived to see that day, the retribution 
would have been complete. 

The life of the present Emperor has covered the 
most eventful era in Prussian history. As a young offi- 
cer, he fought against Napoleon, and saw his conquered 
country lying broken and submissive at the feet of 
France. A few years later he shared in the joy that 
made Europe half wild on the night of the 19th of 
June, 181 5, when the battle of Waterloo had been won. 
In 1848, as crown prince, he was misunderstood, and un- 
popular. A crowd came to the palace to make demands 
upon the king ; two shots were fired into their ranks by 
soldiers who had received their command, so it was 
thought, from the young prince, and he was forced in 
the night to flee from the very city, which rises up now 
to greet him with a loyalty almost like that of adoration. 
Until 1866 Prussia had always been thrown in the shade 
by Austria. They had fought together three years be- 
fore against Denmark, but that was only the prelude to 
the struggle with each other, made inevitable by mutual 
jealousy, and distrust. The Prussian prime minister, to- 
day the most famous statesman in the world, but then 
comparatively unknown, saw that the opportunity had 
at last come to drive Austria out of the German con- 
federation, and to leave Prussia without a rival. 

With an exercise of power which was unconstitutional, 
the king and his minister declared war. In less than a 
month the strongest army that Austria could send into 
the field was met at Sadov/a, and at nightfall defeated, 



176 Saunterings in Europe. 

after a terrible battle, which had remained undecisive 
till the fresh troops of the Crown Prince rushed through 
the smoke and drove the broken Austrian ranks from 
the field. An hour later the victorious king and his son 
greeted each other by the village of Koniggratz, and the 
soldiers sang the same song of thanksgiving which had 
been sung by the army of Frederick the Great at Lutzen 
a hundred years before. Only four years more were to 
pass before Prussia was to take the leading part in a still 
more terrible struggle. The usurper of the French 
throne, Napoleon III., with an ambition as great as that 
of his uncle, hoping to see Germany once more become 
but little better than a French province, caught at the 
very slight excuse which was given him by the election 
of a distant relative of the Prussian royal family as 
King of Spain, to declare war. This was in July. The 
French expected to celebrate the birthday of Napoleon 
I. in Berlin, on the 15th of August. Fifteen days after 
the time set for the triumphal entrance. Napoleon III. 
wrote the following letter from Sedan to King William : 
'' Since it is not permitted me to die at the head of my 
troops, I lay my sword at the feet of your majesty." 
Six months later, in the great hall of Louis Fourteenth's 
palace, at Versailles, King William was chosen and 
crowned Emperor of Germany, a title which recalls the 
times and the glory of Henry the Fowler and Otho the 
Great. 

The little fishing village on the banks of the Spree 
has now become the capital of a mighty em.pire. It is 
less beautiful than Paris or Vienna, but by no means 
unworthy to hold its high position. Built on a great 



Berlin. 177 

flat sand plain, whatever attractions it has, and they 
are many, are due entirely to what, and not to where, 
it is. The streets are broad and excellently paved. 
The private and public houses are large and not a few of 
them beautiful. A fine park lies within easy walking dis- 
tance from any part of the city. Through it runs a wide 
boulevard to the little town of Charlottenburg, to which 
thousands are yearly attracted, not only for the pleasant 
drive, but for the exquisite statue of the unfortunate 
Queen Louise, whose sad fate awakens the sympathy even 
of travellers from foreign lands, who look upon that cold, 
sweet face. The favorite home of Frederick the Great, 
at Potsdam, is within driving distance from Berlin. No 
reader of Prussian history, whether from the standpoint 
of Carlyle or Macaulay, can fail to be interested in the 
palace of Sans Souci (''without care," the name means, 
and such a place he meant it to be), where Frederick lived 
and fought with Voltaire, and where he met death with 
his face to the foe, as it had always been ; or in the church 
where the dust which was once the abiding place of that 
indomitable spirit reposes in a vault beneath the pulpit. 
No lover of science or literature but must look with 
something of interest at the little chateau of Charlotten- 
hof, where Alexander von Humboldt spent so many 
years and wrote the " Kosmos," the greatest work of his 
busy and fruitful life. No admirer of the Empe.o ", or of 
charming country castles could pass by Babelsberg, so 
beautifully set in green groves, and fields running down 
to the water, without wishing to cross its threshold, 
and see the delightfully home-like room in which the 
Kaiser studies, and which he uses in the summer-time 
8-^ 



178 Saunterings in Europe. 

as his council chamber, the still more plainly furnished 
sleeping apartment with its little iron bedstead, the 
rough stick standing in the rack, cut by his own hands, 
and which he always carries in his Babelsberg walks, 
the elegantly furnished rooms of the Empress and the 
Crown Princess — Queen Victoria's eldest daughter — and 
even the chickens which her imperial highness, it is said, 
never forgets to feed in any of the days of her sojourn 
there. 

Returning from Potsdam to the streets of the cap- 
ital, along the same route the Emperor took on his 
triumphal entry on the 5th of February, we pass at the 
station the tall obelisk that then blossomed with flowers 
and blazed with lights, and which is to perpetuate it- 
self in a counterpart of polished granite, through the 
broad street which commemorates the victory over the 
Austrians at Koniggratz, under the great Brandenburg 
gate, surmounted by its triumphal car, beautiful enough 
to catch Napoleon's eye, and to have been carried by 
him to Paris as one of his Berhn trophies, along the no- 
blest boulevard of the city, the Unter den Linden, the 
residences of many of the nobles, and of the French 
and Russian Ambassadors, by the perfectly molded 
statue of Frederick the Great, with the Emperor's palace 
on one hand, and the university building — once also a 
palace — on the other, by the comfortable and magnificent 
house of the Crown Prince and the immense arsenal filled 
with trophies of war, over the stone bridge lined on 
either side with marble statues which tell the story of a 
soldier's life from the hour when he is instructed in the 
use of weapons till the moment he falls in battle covered 



Berlin. 179 

with glory, along the front of the old palace with its six 
hundred massive apartments, some of them furnished 
with great splendor, and its legend of a white lady that 
walks in the largest hall just before the death of one of 
the royal family, across the pleasure gardens to the mu- 
seums with their wealth of statues and paintings from 
the old masters and the new, their treasures from 
Greece and Rome and Egypt, the latter scarcely else- 
where equalled. Such is a rude sketch of some of the 
things to be seen in the modern German capital ; but Berlin 
offers a still richer feast to the ear. The devotee of what- 
ever art or science may find that which he seeks in her 
music halls, and academies, or her university. He must 
either have no appetite at all, or a very dainty one, who 
spends a winter here and takes no intellectual nutriment. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

A SUNDAY IN BERLIN. 

A Great City without a Great Church — ^^Der Do7Ji'' — The 
little Cathedral — The German Service — A Military 
Church — Schleiermacher s Church — Religious Condition 
of Germany. 

ERLIN is unique among European capitals. It is 
a great city with no great church. London has 
its St. Paul's, and Westminster Abbey, Paris its Notre 
Dame, Vienna its St. Stephen's, St. Petersburg its St. 
Isaac's ; but the most important of the German cities is 
surpassed in the size and beauty of its ecclesiastical edi- 
fices, by such towns as Metz, and Strasburg. Berlin is 
among the oldest of continental cities. Its history runs 
back to the days when every large town was building its 
cathedral, back to days, long before the more modest 
forms of Protestant worship had begun to be observed ; 
but while Cologne and Mayence were laying the founda- 
tions of the beautiful edifices to which they now owe 
their fame, Berlin was too much occupied with the mere 
struggle for existence to rear temples and basilicas. 

A hundred years ago, pressed as he was for money to 
carry on his wars with the larger part of Europe, Fred- 
erick the Great erected a building near the old palace 
(i8o) 



A Sunday in Berlin. i8i 

which has since been called Der Doin, or the cathedral ; 
but it is an unsightly structure, with but few claims to 
such title. The last king, Frederick Wilhelm IV., the 
brother of the present Emperor, was ambitious to build 
a great church in his capital, but died before his plans 
could be carried out. The people of Berlin are soon 
about to erect, so it is said, a church of thanks, to com- 
memorate the Emperor's preservation from the two at- 
tempts made last year upon his life. Though their mo- 
tive is most worthy, the edifice which they will build 
with the limited amount of money reported to have been 
collected, will probably be scarcely deserving of like com- 
mendation. Neither can it be said that Berlin makes up 
by quantity that which she lacks in quality. One is 
amazed, in looking over the city from the top of the 
great column of victory in the Park, to see so few church 
spires. From Trinity church steeple in New York one 
might easily count five times as many. 

But let us come down from our great tower in the 
Thiergarten, which was erected, with very questionable 
taste, to perpetuate the triumphant issue of the Franco- 
Prussian war, and see what we shall find in one of these 
churches. Joining the well-dressed crowds sauntering 
on Unter den Linden, we walk by palaces and statues, 
till the round cupola of the little cathedral is just before 
us, and passing in through its open door, and pushing aside 
a thick curtain, we have a full view of the interior. It 
is as plain and unattractive as the exterior. Shaped like 
an ordinary brick, with the high pulpit at the side and 
the uncushioned seats facing in all directions — not a few 
of them directly away from the speaker — it gives one a 



i82 Saunterings in Europe. 

very good conception of what a comfortable church 
should not be. 

It is only ten o'clock, but the service is just commenc- 
ing. A choir of some fifty men and boys, just visible 
behind a latticework at one end of the church, is singing 
an anthem very sweetly, and without any musical ac- 
companiment. This is soon completed, two or three 
chords are struck upon the organ, and a congregational 
hymn is sung — or at least the attempt is made ; but as 
the choir is now resting after its brief exertions, and only 
the organ leads, the music produced awakens in a listener 
little enthusiasm. 

At the close of the hymn a sexton in white cravat and 
dress coat comes up the aisle, followed by one of the four 
cathedral preachers, wearing the usual black scholastic 
gown, and carrying a small book in his folded hands. 
Advancing to what might be called the altar, upon which 
is a cross with a lighted candle on either side — though 
this is a very strict Protestant church — he stands for a 
moment in prayer, and then, turning as the hymn ceases, 
reads the short service of the German EvangeHcal Church. 
This is made up, as I remember it, of two very brief 
prayers, and two equally brief Scripture lessons, with the 
creed repeated only by the minister, and a few sentences 
sung by the choir. As the congregation sings another 
hymn, the minister passes out, and the one who is that 
day to preach ascends the high pulpit. When the preach- 
er announces his text every one stands till he has read it 
and has said Amen. The sermon v/hich follows is com- 
posed of tv/o very distinct parts, for after an introduction 
of from five to ten minutes a short prayer is offered for 



A Sunday in Berlin. 183 

the blessing of God upon what is to follow. The whole 
sermon is ordinarily about half an hour in length, vary- 
ing in quality, of course, with the preacher, and with his 
physical and mental condition. The sermons I heard in 
the Dom were all good, but none of them could have 
been called eloquent. After the discourse comes the 
most lengthy prayer of the service, including petitions 
for the Emperor and imperial family, the Reichstag, or 
House of Parliament, all officials, the whole land, and for 
the people in their various needs, closing with the Lord's 
Prayer, in which the congregation does not audibly join. 

This is the liturgical service, which King William III. 
with the aid of a few counsellors, wrote out in two or 
three hours, and which he commanded the Evangelical 
Church — just called into existence by arbitrarily forcing 
the Lutherans and Reformed to unite — to accept and 
to use. It is remarkably good considering its origin. 
Formed in such a way it could scarcely have been bet- 
ter. It is surprising that it was not very much worse. 

The central part of the gallery of this cathedral is divid- 
ed into boxes for the Royal family. Here the Emperor 
and Empress may nearly always be seen Sunday fore- 
noon. Opposite is a similar box reserved for the Diplo- 
matic Corps. Passing out of this church one Sunday fore- 
noon last February, I found the street before the old cas- 
tle filled with a crowd that reached as far up Unter den 
Linden as the present palace of the Emperor. After a 
few inquiries, a very dignified policeman condescended 
to explain that the annual " Order Fest " was about to 
be celebrated. Those who in any way had specially dis- 
tinguished themselves during the year in the military or 



1 84 Saunterings in Europe. 

civil service, were about to be decorated with the Order 
of the Red or Black Eagle, or the Iron Cross. The cere- 
mony was to take place in the magnificent halls of the 
Schloss. The Emperor was momentarily expected. Al- 
most immediately a wave of excitement passed over the 
crowd, a State carriage with outriders came swiftly down 
the street and over the bridge and passing by within a 
few feet of where I stood, I saw that its occupants were 
the Emperor and the Crown Prince. Then followed 
other carriages filled with the proud and envied officers 
whom the Emperor was about to honor. They were 
brilliantly dressed in full uniform, their breasts already 
covered with stars and crosses, and their helmets sur- 
mounted with great white waving plumes. It was a 
sight that made one think of that other day, to which 
with more or less magnificence we are all hastening, 
when an Eternal Hand is to bestow the prizes, and when 
emperors and kings must stand with the humblest to re- 
ceive according to that which they have done, whether 
it be good, or whether it be evil. 

Some five minutes' walk from the cathedral is the Gar- 
rison church, the largest in Berlin. Here, as we enter, 
we find a more numerous congregation than we saw in 
the cathedral, though that was by no means small. But 
this is very different from that. In the cathedral, here 
and there, a uniform could be seen ; but here, as we look 
up to the galleries, we see more than a thousand soldiers, 
with their officers. This is the soldiers' church, and the im- 
mense galleries are reserved entirely for them. It is one 
of the sights to see them file out at the close of the serv- 
ice, and form their ranks in the street — each company dis- 



A Sunday in Berlin. 185 

tinguished by its peculiar uniform — and march away to 
their barracks. This church has among its pastors the 
most popular preacher in BerHn — Dr. Frommel. He is 
said to be one of the Emperor's favorites. Whenever 
he preaches, which is about once a month, it is difficult 
to find a vacant seat. I heard him one Sunday : a New 
Year's sermon it was, and a very good one, but in no 
way remarkable ; yet he has proved that even Berliners 
will go to church, if they are sure of hearing something 
in which they will be interested, and that they will go 
where appeals are made to conscience, and to Christ, and 
not continually to what " our Luther " has said. 

Very near the Kaiserhof, the most famous of the Ber- 
lin hotels, is a peculiar structure, which looks as if it 
might once have been the dome of an immense edifice ; 
but by some mishap, the building, of which it was but 
the crown, was swept away, and now it must fulfil a pur- 
pose for which it was not originally designed. But mul- 
titudes look at this little church not so much because of 
any peculiarity in its appearance, as from the fact that 
here for many years preached the man of whom it was 
irreverently said, '^ Schleiermacher has re-introduced the 
Almighty into polite society." When Schleiermacher 
came to Berlin in 1807, it was the fashion to be atheisti- 
cal. In less than two years he had won for religious sub- 
jects a respectful hearing. Rationalist as he might now 
be called, he did a work for the Evangelical Church 
which probably could not at that time have been done 
by a more scriptural, but less philosophical preacher. He 
preached to large audiences on the first day of the week, 
and lectured to a constantly increasing number of stu- 



1 86 Saunterings in Europe. 

dents on other days, in the university, where he occu- 
pied the chair of philosophy. Both his sermons and 
lectures are still remembered for their wonderful power. 
The most noted of American theologians, Dr. Charles 
Hodge, of Princeton, sat for some months under his 
teaching, and while refuting Schleiermacher's system, 
has given us in his great work, " Systematic Theol- 
ogy," a most charming sketch of the famous German's 
pure and attractive character. Denying, as Schleier- 
macher did, the inspiration of the Scriptures, and the 
divinity of our Lord, his profound love for the person of 
Christ pervaded all his teaching, and was the ruling 
power in his life. The last words he spoke were full of 
this love. It was upon this faith, dwarfed and imper- 
fect as it was, that he lay down in peace to die. 

The English-speaking population of the city has two 
places of worship — one under the patronage of the 
Church of England, and the other a chapel conducted 
on the principles of the Evangelical Alliance. The con- 
gregations of the latter were comparatively good during 
the last winter. Though the chapel has no regular pas- 
tor, there is always a service held every Sunday, conduct- 
ed usually by some English, Scotch, or American stu- 
dent from the University. 

To describe correctly the present religious condition 
of Berlin, and of Germany, would be a most difiicult 
task. The old skepticisms, and infidelities, are said to 
have lost their power, but they have been replaced by a 
no less deadly indifferentism. Very few fight against 
the Church, but great multitudes ignore it. It would 
perhaps scarcely be an exaggeration to say that there 



A Sunday in Berlin. 187 

are single churches in New York, that show more reHg- 
ious hfe and activity, than all the churches of BerHn 
combined. But we must never forget how different the 
history of the Church in America has been, from that of 
the Church in Germany. From the coming of the Pil- 
grims till the present moment, whatever failures the 
Church in America has made, are due only to herself. 
She has had no enemies to contend against, except the 
three which are always with her — the world, the flesh, 
and the devil. In Germany she has had other foes to 
fight ; or if we prefer so to say, this unholy trinity has 
manifested itself in more terrible forms. Even before 
Luther's death, Germany was divided into two great hos- 
tile camps. Very soon the Catholic League was formed 
for the extermination of Protestantism, and the Union 
was organized to resist these attempts, and to place the 
Bible in the hands of all the people. The body of the 
Great Reformer had scarcely turned to dust in its iroa 
cofilin, under the pavement of the church at Wittenberg, 
before this spirit of enmity had broken out into one of 
the most terrible wars of which history gives us any rec- 
ord. From the Bohemian capital of Prague, where the 
first hostilities began, the desolation spread, till there 
was scarcely a town or hamlet in all Germany that had 
not suffered at the hands of the soldiery, either of the 
Romish League or the Protestant Union. Before the 
Peace of Westphalia in 1648, some of the fairest cities and 
villages had been almost utterly destroyed, and Germany 
had received scars which she will not outgrow for a hun- 
dred years to come. In this fierce struggle, as was in- 
evitable, both Catholics and Protestants lost far more 



1 88 Saunterings in Europe. 

than the wealth which can be estimated by figures on 
paper. They suffered most severely in the weakening 
and destruction of those elements which make up the 
real power of Christianity of whatever type. 

Before the work of restoration had been carried very 
far, there swept over Germany a cold wave of what the 
immortal Goethe has called '^ non-Christian thought," 
which nipped and blasted much that had begun again to 
put forth signs of life. The intellectual revival of the 
sixteenth century led toward the Cross ; that of the sev- 
enteenth led away from it. Neither Goethe or Schiller, the 
two greatest poets Germany has produced, spoke direct- 
ly against Christianity ; they passed it by, and multi- 
tudes, under the charm of their magnetic influence, did 
the same. 

Then came another wave of war. Napoleon crushed 
in turn each of the German powers, and the Church 
gasped, liked the State, for breath. After the overthrow 
of the French Tyrant, and the union of the Lutherans 
and Reformed in 1817, a new school of destructive criti- 
cism was called into existence at Tubingen in South Ger- 
many, by the learned theologian, Bauer. From the pub- 
lication of his first great work in 1824, till his death in 
i860, his pen was ever busy in its attacks on the Bible 
and the Church. He was followed by Strauss, and a host 
of others, who were more severe than their master, in 
their denunciations of the old faith. For a time they 
swept everything before them. Evangelical professors 
were driven out of the universities, and Evangelical 
preachers from the pulpits. It is scarcely two decades 
since by the efforts of such men as Tholuck and Dorner, 



A Sunday in Berlin. 189 

the tide began to turn. Though professors and preach- 
ers are now in the majority of instances thoroughly 
evangehcal, there has not been warmth enough yet to 
melt entirely away the covering of ice with which the 
Church was encased. With much of this still clinging 
to her skirts, it is not surprising that she is less active 
than her sisters in England, Scotland, and America. 



CHAPTER XX. 

AN emperor's welcome. 

The German Capital made Splendid for Jns Reception — 
A Day and Night of Rejoicing — American Students — 
An Imperial " Comjners.^^ 

NOT since the return of the newly crowned Emperor 
from Versailles in 1871 has Berlin witnessed such 
a scene as that of yesterday. For a week editors have 
been elaborating patriotic sentences, and poets training 
their muse to burst forth into song in the Kaiser's honor. 
Since last Monday, crowds of workmen have been hurry- 
ing through the streets, followed by huge wagons loaded 
with mysterious German machines. With an utter re- 
gardlessness of expense, these bands have driven the pick 
and bar into the pavement, and obstructed thoroughfares 
with their tools, while the superintendents of the work 
have walked up and down, and issued their orders with 
a tone full of apparent conviction that not only Berlin, 
but all, workers and sight-seers, were made especially to 
add somewhat to the glory of the imperial reception. 

Before the Emperor's palace on Unter den Linden, a 
high triumphal arch rose over the broad avenue. Yester- 
day this was covered with silk flags and rich cloths em- 
broidered with mottoes, most of them texts from the 
(190) 



An Emperor's Welcome. 191 

Bible. The only one I had time to read, as I was swept 
along in a tremendous crowd, was " The Lord watch over 
thee in thy outgoings and thy incomings." The Kaiser's 
affection and reverence for this book gave to some of the 
most highly decorated buildings an appearance some- 
what like that of the Hippodrome during Mr. Moody's 
famous meetings. The Germans know at least enough 
of the Bible to quote texts from it for such occasions. 
All the way from the palace to the Brandenburg Gate, 
through Koniggratzer Street to the Potsdam Railroad 
station, huge poles had been ranged along the sides in 
the holes made by tearing up the pavement. Early 
yesterday morning they were trimmed wdth what we 
would call Christmas greens, and hung with gay-colored 
bunting. At the great gate the committee of arrange- 
ments had made extraordinary efforts. Against the sides 
of this massive structure, a counterpart, it is said, of the 
Propylasa, at Athens, a huge scaffolding has been built, 
under which, yesterday, on its removal, appeared curi- 
ous excrescences that last night shot forth all manner of 
brilliant lights. But at the station where the Kaiser was 
to make his entrance, the committee had strained brain 
and heart to the utmost to prepare a most dazzling series 
of festooned arches, and gorgeously decorated obelisks. 
Wednesday night the city was evidently in a condition 
of great excitement. Men talked more loudly than usual 
in the cafes. The waiters gave more width and life to 
the usual smile of greeting to their customers, for which 
a somewhat larger fee was expected, and usually received. 
The old women who sell papers on the corner of the 
Arcade — newsboys are unknown here, or at least I have 



1^2 Saunterings in Europe. 

not yet seen one— looked as if the dropping of a few 
pfennigs extra in the open palm was the proper thing 
to be done by every truly patriotic Berliner. If an accu- 
rate census could be taken, I am sure it would be found 
that there was a large number of beds Wednesday night 
to which sleep refused to come. Should Fourth of July, 
which in America one speaks of as almost an individual 
personality, take to itself flesh and bones, and together 
with Santa Claus accept a public reception in New York, 
then may you expect to see and feel there what Berlin 
felt and saw in the few hours before the Kaiser was to 
make his entrance. For several days we had not seen 
the sun, and most of the time we looked out on splash- 
ing drops of rain, but one of the shop-keepers said on 
Wednesday night, " It will not rain to-morrow." It is a 
German proverb, "Good weather when the Kaiser comes," 
and it increased greatly the confidence of the nation in 
this old saw, that it was not till the Emperor had passed 
through the doors of his palace, that the big drops began 
again to make circles in the pools which lay in the centre 
of many of the streets. 

The official committee were not by any means the 
only ones who exerted themselves in the work of decora- 
tion. Every house the whole length of the Unter den 
Linden was covered with flags and hung with greens. In 
the less aristocratic portions of the city, as well, innumer- 
able Prussian and German banners hung from the win- 
dows of almost every story. Many of the largest and 
finest shops had swept everything out of their show- 
windows, to make room for an oil painting or bust of the 
Emperor encircled with flowers, and crowned with laurel. 



An Emperor's Welcome. 193 

At 9 o'clock Thursday A.M., the students of the Univer- 
sity, some 3,000 in number, began to assemble in the 
Castania Park behind the lecture halls. The word had 
been passed the day before among the Americans to meet 
around their flag, which would be found by Hegel's 
statue. The hour had just struck as I reached the place, 
but already a number of persons were ranged under the 
folds of the stars and stripes. The mild, beautiful face 
of the founder of the Hegelian School of Philosophy 
looked down upon us with apparent approval. The offi- 
cers of the different university corps, wearing swords 
and a profusion of ribbons, and mounted on fiery steeds, 
hired for the occasion from some livery stable, rode 
wildly in and out among the crowd. By 10 o'clock the 
police were in line. By 1 1 o'clock, after we had stood 
firmly by our flag for two hours, the order came to march. 
The crowd everywhere was immense. In some way our 
little band of thirty-eight became separated from the other 
2,962 university students. We were swallowed up by an 
unsympathizing mass, to whom our flag was a wonder, 
and ourselves a curiosity. We looked wildly for some 
ribbon-bedecked corps-ofiicer, but they had forgotten 
our existence, and that of the land whose flag we carried. 
Five minutes more would have thrown our undrilled 
ranks into a panic. At this critical moment a mounted 
ppliceman, divining the true condition of things, opened 
a path for us, and with a run like that of Ellsworth's 
Zouaves, we rushed up the Linden and became once 
more a part of the students' column. Instead of losing 
any of our number by this experience, we had increased 
it by two. While rushing about among the crowd, our 

Q 



194 Saunterings in Europe. 

ranks of three each were broken, and in a moment I 
found by my side two young men who said that they 
were students, had lost their companions, but were Swiss 
RepubHcans, and would be glad to march under our flag. 
We adopted them at once. 

At 1 1.30 we reached the place assigned to us, about 
half-way between the palace and the Brandenburg gate. 
We could not have desired a better position. We were 
close to the iron railing which runs on each side of the royal 
carriage road in the centre of Unter den Linden. The 
Emperor would pass within a few feet of where we stood. 
There we waited for another hour. At a little after 12 
o'clock, according to the Berlin reporters, the imperial 
train entered the Potsdam station. The military and 
state officials greeted their monarch with a reverential 
silence, far more impressive than cheers. Before entering 
his carriage, the Emperor expressed his great satisfaction 
on returning to his duties in restored health. '' My 
heart," he said, in alluding to the attempted assassina- 
tion, " bled more than my wounds." From the station 
to the Brandenburg gate he rode between two lines of 
9,000 soldiers. From the gate to the palace, the street 
on each side was crowded with students and citizens. 
It was nearly one o'clock when the music of the bands and 
the suppressed cheers of those nearest the gate, made us 
confident that at last the hour and the man were come. 
" The Emperor is on horseback," was whispered along 
the ranks, but in a moment more the horseman was 
seen to be the chief of police, and not the head of the 
German Empire. On each side of this high official, who 
was evidently ill at ease in the saddle, were two generals 



An Emperor's Welcome. 195 

of the army in full uniform. There was something be- 
tween these three and the royal carriage, but just what, 
we were too excited to discover. Our eyes were on 
the four magnificent black horses rushing on only too 
rapidly toward the palace with their imperial load. 
Now they are 'opposite us. The Emperor and the 
Empress smile and bow, and look as if they v/ere pleased 
at this enthusiasm of their children. The forty Ameri- 
cans unite in the three loudest cheers of the day, and 
make haste to recover their breath to give a similar wel- 
come to the Crown Prince and his Princess, for four more 
black horses, as magnificent as the Emperor's, are pass- 
ing with the heir to the throne, and his wife. I can not 
say how many of these royal carriages there were, or 
just who occupied them, only I know that we did not 
cheer again, till an old man in the uniform of a general, 
but with a smooth face like a preacher's, came opposite 
us, and some one said, "This is Von Moltke." The 
hero of Metz, and Sedan, had a right, we felt, even to re- 
publican cheers, and we gave them heartily. In less 
than a quarter of an hour the last of the imperial family 
and the great dignitaries of the Empire had ridden by. 
We had served our country, such was the general im- 
pression, with fidelity deserving of a dinner. It required 
an order from the chief of police for us to get in the 
ranks, but we waited for no such formality to get out. 

The streets were comparatively quiet all the after- 
noon. The exertions of the morning made every one 
willing to rest. But at 5 o'clock Berlin added to her 
garlands and flags, innumerable belts and wreaths, and 
crowns, and stars of fire. The high walls of her business 



196 Saunterings in Europe. 

and dwelling houses glowed with fantastic forms of flame. 
A great '' W " — Wilhelm — sparkled on the massive 
fronts of some of the high State buildings. The Par- 
isier Square, before the Brandenburg gate, was as bright 
as day with many-colored lights, while fountains of fire 
played in the centre. The triumphal 'car, with bronze 
horses, over the gate, which Napoleon carried with 
him as a trophy to Paris, in 1807, was as brilliant as if 
the rays of the rising sun had been focused upon it. 
The obehsk in front of the Potsdam station glistened 
as if hung with gems, while upon the top was a spark- 
ling crown. One of the papers the next morning said 
with pardonable enthusiasm, " The whole city was an 
Aladdin's palace." 

At 8 o'clock more than 2,000 students, and at least 
1,000 guests, met in a great hall, for what the Germans 
call an " Imperial Commers." The word is untranslata- 
ble. What a " Commers " is, will be explained by what 
was done. Long, plain board tables, uncovered, stretch- 
ed across the room — uncovered, as Americans use that 
term when applied to tables ; but it is by no means lit- 
erally true, for the boards were almost hidden by beer- 
glasses, and cigar-ashes. A high canopied platform was 
filled with the gallant corps officials, who had borne their 
enforced horseback exercise of the morning with becom- 
ing resignation. In front of them, sat some of the most 
famous of the university professors, Professor Zeller, the 
Rector, having a specially prominent position. It was a 
little after 8, as the corps officers rose, raised their 
swords, and in perfect time, struck three heavy blows on 
the table before them. ''America," with the German 



An Emperor's Welcome. 197 

words, for it is also the national hymn here, was sung 
standing, and with a unity and volume of sound which 
were majestic. At the end of the song, the presiding 
officer made a short address, very patriotic, it is said — 
we could not hear it — and then came the " Salamander." 
This, like the word Commers, is untranslatable. Glasses 
filled v/ith beer were held high in the air. " The Em- 
peror " was given as the toast. Every glass was low- 
ered, rubbed upon the table while the leader counted 
" Ein, zwei, drei," then the beer rolled down those 2,000 
throats in about the time it takes to read this sentence, 
and the empty glasses were dashed together upon the 
boards. It took only a moment for the broken glass 
and flying beer to settle into quietness on the floor, or 
table. Fresh mugs were ordered, those that withstood 
the shock were refilled, and the process of diminishing 
the amount of beer in the United German Empire went 
on with unabated rapidity. Other songs, other toasts, 
other ^' Salamanders " followed, and when we left, an 
hour before midnight, professors and students alike were 
still steadily at work. It was 4 o'clock, I am told, be- 
fore the lights were put out. and the Imperial Commers 
was over. 

Under all the apparent enthusiasm of the welcome 
which had been prepared for the Emperor, lurks a latent 
discontent. The expenses were necessarily large. Ger- 
many is not rich. Any increase of expenditures is se- 
riously felt by the people. But more than this, about a 
week ago Berlin was placed under a more rigid surveil- 
lance of police than has ever before been known. A 
number of authors and business men, who were not con- 



198 Saunterings in Europe. 

victed, but only suspected of harboring sympathy for 
the Social Democrats, were given twenty - four hours 
in which to leave the city. Bismarck's iron fingers are 
around every man's throat, and liberty-loving Germans 
say, "We can not breathe here." Yet these laws were 
passed by a Parliament elected by the people. They 
were not the sudden whims of an autocrat. Whether 
they are wise or not, is a question for whose answer we 
must look to the future. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

FROM BERLIN TO MOSCOW. 

The Land of the Tzar in Mid-winter — A German Sleep- 
ing-car — Unhappy Poland — Warsaiv — A Catholic City 
— Three Second-class Passengers — Russian Tea — A 
Military Russian. 

ON one of the coldest nights of last December, I 
stepped into the railway office at Berlin, to buy a 
ticket for Moscow. It was something of an encourage- 
ment, that the man in charge, instead of smiling at such 
foolhardiness, as some of my friends had done, and mut- 
tering between his chattering teeth, " It is impossible," 
handed out at once the desired piece of pasteboard. It 
was nearly midnight. The waiting-room w^as filled with 
a most motley assemblage of human beings. Some 
were sleeping with the huge collars of their immense 
fur coats turned up over their heads, others were drink- 
ing beer and smoking — the custom in all restaurants 
here — and chattering in German, French, English, and 
Russian. Perhaps in no other city could just such a 
company be found, and perhaps at no other hour could 
it be found here. Sleeping-cars are still so much of a 
luxury in Europe, that you feel like a newsboy who has 

(199) 



200 Saunterings in Europe. 

just sold his last paper, on discovering one of those es- 
sentials of American travel. I had been assured that 
there would be such a car on this train, and the assur- 
ance proved to be founded on fact. It was almost as 
elegantly fitted up as your Pullman coaches, but built 
on a different principle. It was composed entirely of 
little compartments, each having four berths. When two 
can have one of these rooms to themselves, it is as good, 
if not better than the American method ; but when all 
four berths are used, the amount of comfort attainable 
is diminished in geometrical ratio. Our compartment 
claimed four as its share that night. One of these ^ya3 
a fine-looking and very gentlemanly Prussian officer, in 
full uniform, of course. He was returning to his station 
at Konigsberg. He served as an unconscious illustra- 
tion for one line of the poem so popular among Ameri- 
can school-boys, which describes the hero as being laid 
to rest "with his martial cloak around him " : so sought 
this Prussian repose that night. With spurs, and gloves, 
and only his helmet laid aside, he closed his eyes to 
dream of victories, and of new stars added to those that 
rose and fell on his heaving breast. 

Toward nine o'clock the next morning the door of the 
car opened — I had been obliged at an earlier hour to 
leave the sleeping coach which ran to Konigsberg — and 
two men in official uniform, speaking either Russian or 
Polish, gave me to understand that I was to get out and 
bring my baggage with me. We had reached the fron- 
tier, and passports must be shown, and bags and trunks 
opened. Having but few bags, and no trunks, and being 
fortunate enough to stand by a gentleman who spoke 



From Berlin to Moscow. 201 

both Polish and German, my luggage was soon looked 
into by one ' of the Russian officials, and by two or 
three Russian peasants in sheepskins, the only right 
of the latter for such an inspection consisting, I 
think, in that natural curiosity which is common to 
the human species. My passport was returned with 
some mysterious characters written on it, and I was at 
liberty to pursue my journey into Poland and Russia. 
We rode on through miles of level plains covered with 
snow. Now and then we saw in the distance the white 
smoke curling from some chimney-top, but both houses 
and villages were far apart. That wc rode some of the 
way with the window open, is proof sufficient that noth- 
ing like Siberian cold had yet been experienced. 

At about two o'clock we reached Warsaw, the once 
famous Polish capital. Scarcely more than three hun- 
dred years ago, this now almost forgotten city was the 
centre of the military power of Northeastern Europe. 
Here the powerful house of Jagellon held its court. A 
large part of Russia paid them tribute. The Bran- 
denburgs held East Russia as their vassals. It was a Po 
lish King, John Sobieski, that in the seventeenth century 
drove back what Carlyle calls "the unspeakable Turk," 
from the gates of Vienna, the Austrian capital. But 
Poland's glory was waning before that of her great 
northern rival. Russian armies swept over her fields, 
and stormed her cities. Two queens, and a king, each 
with an insatiable appetite for power, sat down to feast 
like cannibals, on the writhing body of their defeated 
neighbor. Catherine of Russia, greedy for territory, cut 
off a huge slice ; Frederick the Great of Prussia used 



202 SaUNTERTNGS IN EUROPE. 

his knife with equal vigor; Maria Theresa of Austria, 
though her arm was weaker, had skill enough to secure 
some luscious titbits. Little was left of Poland to be 
feared, or to be pitied. For that little, Kosciusko, who 
had fought so bravely under Washington in our own 
Revolution, risked in vain his fortunes and his life. 
Early in the nineteenth century, when Napoleon was re- 
cuperating from his terrible Russian experience, there 
came once more into a state of semi-existence a king- 
dom of Poland. It was little more than a name given 
by Russia, that the Poles, playing with this shadow of 
power, might be content to leave her the reality. Twice 
the people, conscious of the delusion, rose in their weak- 
ness to throw off the conqueror under whose increasing 
weight it was impossible to breathe. But the first effort 
only added to the burden which they were forced to 
bear, and the second proved to be the throes of death. 
Since 1863 the name of Poland has had no meaning. 
The old Polish songs may neither be played nor sung. 
The Polish cap must not be worn. The Pole lives with 
the stiff, narrow Russian yoke upon his neck. He can 
look only straight ahead, and he sees In the future no 
glimmering ray of hope. It saddens an American to 
linger even for a few hours In the land of Kosciusko. 

Warsaw has somethlnp; of interest for the traveller 
rather for what It was, than for what It is. Some of the 
buildings are large and fine, and some of the views over 
the Vistula are exceedingly attractive, but it Is rather 
as one of the connecting links with a more glorious past, 
that It Is placed by the foreigner among the names of 
the places which he wishes to see. There are old pal- 



From Berlin to Moscow. 203 

aces here that were once the magnificent homes of pow- 
erful kings ; they are now used as pubHc offices, or as 
barracks. There are monuments here, but they perpetu- 
ate the memory of monarchs and generals who waged suc- 
cessful warfare with the Turk, or of military officers who 
won the gratitude of Russia by refusing, through lack of 
bravery or patriotism, to join their countrymen in the 
revolution of 1830. 

The Warsaw of to-day, from its mixed population of 
Poles, Russians, and Germans, has a nondescript charac- 
ter. It resembles neither Berlin, Moscow, nor St. Peters- 
burg. The public conveyances are unlike those of any 
of these cities. The German drosky and the Russian 
sleigh exist here, but are evidently unnaturalized. That 
which is indigenous to Warsaw is a peculiar affair on 
runners, with two wild-looking horses attached to a pole 
raised almost to their ears, and up which, as they rush 
along at a very rapid gait, they seem to be madly at- 
tempting to climb. 

Both the Protestant Church of Germany and the Greek 
Church of Russia have places of worship, but they are 
exotics. It is the Church of Rome that thrives best on 
Polish soil. Here I saw for the first time a sight with 
which, in a somewhat different form, I was soon to be- 
come very familiar. Before one of the largest of the 
Romish churches is a statue of Christ bearing the cross. 
At night the light is focused upon it with almost start- 
ling effect. Whether by day or night, many, perhaps 
the majority, of those who pass walking or riding, re- 
move their hats and make the sign of the cross upon 
their breasts. It is a custom which is sure to catch the 



204 Saunterings in Europe. 

attention of one who has never been in any Catholic 
country except France. 

I made no attempt to conceal from myself, though I 
had from every one else, the fact that I dreaded the ride 
from Warsaw to Moscow. Such wild stories had been 
told me of what I might expect, and still more of what 
I might not expect, that I was obliged to whistle two or 
three military airs to counteract an increasing tendency 
to retreat. As yet I had experienced no discomfort from 
the cold or from the lack of a great fur coat (called a pelz) 
except the general surprise which is created when a 
Russian traveller is not so enveloped — a surprise very 
much like that which would be awakened among New 
Yorkers if a man should walk down Broadway in De- 
cember without shoes or stockings. He might insist 
upon it that he was perfectly comfortable ; could walk 
better with his feet free ; but his explanation would 
not be generally acceptable. There is much truth in the 
Russian's belief that for several months of the year furs 
are an absolute necessity. If the weeks I spent there 
had not been remarkably warm, I should either have 
been obliged to conform to the general custom, or to 
have kept most of the time within the walls of the 
hotel. Americans living in St. Petersburg told me, that 
there is some peculiarity about the intense cold which 
they usually have, so that even a temperature which 
might not prove dangerous in our Western States, may 
be, to one unused to the Russian climate, the cause of 
a fever or congested lungs. Comparatively few English 
or Americans pass through their first winter without 
some such experience, it is said. 



From Berlin to Moscow. 205 

The amount of travel from Warsaw to Moscow is ap- 
parently not great enough to warrant the running of such 
sleeping-cars as can be found on the route between Ber- 
lin and St. Petersburg. There is but one through car 
on the train which leaves Warsaw in the morning, and 
which is less unlike an express than the evening mail. It 
was divided by a partition into two parts, called first and 
second class. But the second class had some decided 
advantages over the first. The seats could be pulled 
out and made into something which would remind the 
imagination of a bed. This, as well as the expense, de- 
cided the only three persons who showed any symptoms 
of making the trip, to spread themselves out over as 
many seats as possible in the second-class compartment. 

One of the three was a German merchant. He had 
shops in both Warsaw and Moscow. He was very talk- 
ative, and as usual with such temperaments, inclined to 
be confidential. He told us all about his business, giv- 
ing the very figures, perhaps, which he had lately re- 
ported to the Government officials in both cities. He 
told us how much he had paid for his handsome fur coat 
— about $400 — and also the smaller sum, an inferior one, 
which he usually wore had cost him. He had travelled 
in England, Erance, and Italy. Was nearly robbed in 
London, and thought the English a wickeder people than 
the Germans — about as bad as the Russians. He had 
read all Goethe and Schiller, a number of English and 
French authors, and had his own views, which he was 
ready at any moment to explain, concerning Religion 
and Immortality. He talked Russian, and won our grat- 
itude for his friendly assistance in the restaurants. 



2o6 Saunterings in Europe. 

The second was also a merchant, but from Bohemia. 
His home was near Prague. He was very much of a 
gentleman. Less communicative and confidential than 
the German, I never found out whether he sympathized 
with John Huss and the men who at a later day threw 
the tyrannical counsellors of the vacillating Romish mon- 
arch of Bohemia out of the window, or whether his sym- 
pathies were wholly on the other side, or whether, as I 
think highly probable, all such questions w^ere to him 
matters of supreme indifference. He listened with ap- 
parent interest to the German's exposition of his views 
concerning Scientific Immortality, but his own remained 
unexpressed. He carried a heavy fur coat, and wore 
immense Russian overshoes, which were almost as long 
as American boots. 

The third may be quickly described as a United States 
citizen, with no fur coat, or overshoes, and carrying more 
curiosity than baggage. 

Through miles of snow-covered plains we rode slowly 
on. We knew toward evening that we had passed out of 
what used to be Poland, from the refusal of the w^aiters at 
the restaurants to accept as payment for tea, a Polish nick- 
el coin called a grosky. At Warsaw we had drunk our first 
cup, or rather glass, of this Russian tea. It was a mem- 
orable experience. We asked for CJii^ which we had been 
told was the proper word, and the waiter brought, in an 
ordinary drinking glass, a bright liquid as pure as some 
rare old wine. By the side of the glass was a small plate, 
on which lay three square little blocks of beet sugar and a 
thin slice of lemon. I need not describe to Americans the 
effect which sugar has upon tea. The chemical combina- 



From Berlin to Moscow. 207 

tion thus produced, has by innumerable experiments from 
childhood become sufficiently familiar. But with lemon, 
the condition of things is very different. The ordinary 
American no more thinks of putting a slice of this in 
his tea, than of making a similar use of a turnip or potato. 
I had a right, then, to watch the result of the first experi- 
ment with considerable interest. Bright as the liquid had 
been, the lemon produced upon it an effect like that of 
sunlight upon wine. I was eager for the process to be com- 
pleted, that I might taste this novel drink. The first sip 
vvas taken in a doubtful way. The second was con aniorc, 
hearty and sincere. I became an immediate enthusiast 
over Russian tea, as devoted a subject as the German to 
his national drink. I almost resolved on returning to 
the United States, to become an American Don Quixote, 
and head a new party, whose banner should be a glass, 
a tea-pot, and a lemon, and whose purpose should be to 
drive into the ocean the liquid tyrants that now hold 
there their despotic sway. But unfortunately the fact 
that a Russian has already emptied many glasses of his 
favorite cJii does not diminish in the slightest degree the 
amount of stronger drink considered necessary. He 
must still have his vodka, which resembles somewhat 
American whisky. The disciples of temperance could 
hope but little, I fear, from the introduction of this 
Northern luxury. 

Late in the evening our number was increased by an 
addition of one. A peasant — it is almost superfluous to 
add, clothed in sheepskin — brought in half a dozen bags 
and bundles, more or less military in their appearance. 
A dignified Russian officer, with jingling sword and 



2o8 Saunterings in Europe. 

spurs, followed. He said something in his native tongue, 
the only one which he at any time used. Our German 
friend made evidently an affirmative response, for in a sat- 
isfied way he at once had his servant distribute the va- 
rious articles over the only unoccupied seats. He was 
possessed of literary tastes which he was determined to 
gratify in spite of all difficulties. The light in the car 
was not one of those deceptive American lamps that ^re 
always like an oyster-plant — just on the point of being 
more useful than they ever are. This luminary held out 
no false hopes ; you could see at a glance that it never 
had been, and never could be by any possibility, strong 
enough to read by. But our military Russian, trained 
to look upon obstacles only to discover how they might 
be surmounted, was soon deep in the mysteries of an 
enormous volume, by the aid of an im-provised light. 
He found a tallow candle somewhere in the car ; it had 
no holder, but he grasped it nrmily, and read on steadily 
while the hot melting globules fell unnoticed upon his 
hand. So, perhaps, he had read many a night in the 
Balkans, after a hard day's battle with the Turk. The 
one stove which heated the whole car was a wood-burn- 
er. The red sparks rose in dense masses from the pipe, 
and fell through the deep darkness upon the whitened 
earth. Resting for a moment as if looking in v/onder 
upon the strange monster that had given them birth, 
they whirled off in every direction, chasing each other 
over the frozen snow. They seemed to be living spirits ; 
perhaps the ghosts of some of Napoleon's soldiers, that 
had laid down in these very fields to die of hunger and 
cold. 



From Berlin to Moscow. 209 

A superstitious Frenchman might have covered his 
face with his hand, and have drawn the curtain, but there 
are few ghosts that can come out of the history of the 
past to strike terror into the heart of the modern Ameri- 
can. Our heroes have never sacrificed a ''grand army" 
on the altars of their selfish and unholy ambition. They 
have not left us an inheritance of haunted houses. No 
bands of the spirits of the murdered stalk through the 
night crying for vengeance. No Smolensk or Moscow 
can scream its curses in our ears. We have never forced 
brave men to lay the torch against the walls of their own 
homes, or see them transformed into barracks for the 
shelter of a cruel and rapacious enemy. I slept that night 
— as one of the condemned in Tartarus, according to 
the Grecian legend, was accustomed to eat, or to make 
the attempt — under a suspended sword. But unlike the 
finely-tempered blade of Damocles, hanging by a single 
hair, the heavy sabre of our Russian officer was so firmly 
fastened to the rack, that only those who are made nerv- 
ous at the sight or mention of weapons, would have had 
any difficulty on that account either in sleeping or eat- 
ing. All the next day and the next night we rolled slowly 
on, with no unusual sight or sound, not even the distant 
barking of a pack of wolves to break the monotony. It 
was a relief to muscles, brain, and nerves, when we saw, 
at last, a multitude of domes and spires, and knew that 
we had reached the most Asiatic of all the European 
cities, the ancient capital of the Tzars, whose red fiames, 
some sixty years ago, wrote upon the October sky the 
changed fortunes of the world's conqueror. 



CHAPTER XXII. ■ 

MOSCOW. 

Russian Sleighs — Chapels and Icons — The Kremlin — 
The Big Bell — Easter Scenes. 

THE crowned heads of Continental Europe speak, 
beside their native tongue, either EngHsh, French, 
or German. Many of them can use these three languages 
with equal ease. It is true that one who has this amount 
of philological knowledge, could travel through Europe 
from end to end with no interpreter, if he had only to 
deal with kings and emperors. But the routes for ordi- 
nary mortals do not lead through a constant succession 
of royal courts, and there is a vast difference between 
crowned heads and cab-drivers. I had flattered myself, 
and had been flattered into thinking, that even in Russia 
this triple talisman would never fail to be an open sesame. 
It took only five minutes in Moscow to convince me of 
my mistake. There was no one in the railway station 
that I could make understand anything except gestures. 
Before the entrance were some two hundred of the most 
unique vehicles imaginable. They were little sleighs not 
very much larger than boys use in America for a New- 
foundland dog or a goat. From each side of this toy- 
like affair ran large but light undressed poles to the 
(2 to) 



Moscow. 211 

breast of the horse, where they were firmly fastened by 
leather thongs to the collar, and to a strong wooden 
yoke rising high above the neck. The front seat was too 
narrow to hold the driver without partly spilling him 
over the sides ; but two loops were so arranged that by 
placing in them his thick cloth boots, the driver — he is 
always called in Russia an Isvostchik — might reasonably 
hope to prolong his life for more than one trip. Isvost- 
chik has other enemies to guard against besides the law 
of gravitation. He must ride all day on this little perch 
of his, with uncovered feet, when it is thirty degrees be- 
low zero by a Russian thermometer, and when American 
mercury would have given up the fight ; so under this 
long priest-like robe of his, he wears a thick sheepskin 
with the wool turned in, and on his head is a great fur 
cap, covered on the top with green or blue cloth. 

When I had descended the steps of the railroad depot, 
looking in vain for a hotel omnibus, I v/as at once as 
completely surrounded by Isvostchiks as a loaf of bread 
by fish in a pickerel pond. They could understand 
nothing that I said; and I could understand noth- 
ing that they said. There are few positions in which 
one feels more like a fool, than when trying to talk in an 
absolutely unknown language. Almost in despair, and 
yet forced to laugh at the ridiculous figure 1 cut, I 
jumped at last into a little sleigh with its one narrow 
vacant seat, gave Isvostchik a nod, and away we went. 
Many times I had read the pathetic story of the oriental 
maiden who loved an English knight, and who followed 
him through Asia, and Europe, knowing but one word — 
his dear name — but with that found him at last. I 



212 SaUNTERINGS IN EUROPE. 

learned, I think, during the first hour in Moscow, to un- 
derstand how she must have felt. I too knew but one 
word— the name of a hotel — and as my driver turned 
around again to look in wonder at this strange individu- 
al occupying his sleigh, I hurled at him my whole Rus- 
sian vocabulary: " Slavensky Bazar." His face lighted 
up. He evidently understood me, for he instantly said 
" rouble." Now a rouble at par, is about eighty cents, 
and though at present it is only worth about forty-nine 
cents, yet even this I knew was fully twice as much as 
the usual rates in Russia, but I said nothing — for I could 
not— and I made no sign, for it was useless, and on we 
went at a good square trot, into the heart of Moscow. 
Hundreds of little sleighs, like the one in which I rode, 
were darting everywhere, the drivers shouting some pe- 
culiar words to clear the way. Great coaches, drawn by 
two horses, with a driver and footman, the latter wear- 
ing a cocked hat, and an embroidered scarlet cloak, rolled 
by in a most dignified way. But far more novel and 
Russian, were the troikas. A troika is one of the little 
sleighs grown into twice the usual size, while on each 
side of the horse in the shafts, run ordinarily, two black 
stallions with but little harness, and with their wild 
heads turned out. Perhaps all three are covered with a 
blue net to catch the flying snow, and as they come 
rushing on with jingling bells — the little public sleighs 
have none — the average stranger will open his eyes to 
the widest possible extent. 

When we stopped before the hotel I explained in 
German to t\\Q portier — a very different individual from 
the American porter — who was arrayed in quite royal 



Moscow. 213 

livery, the somewhat Hmited nature of my Russian, and 
he sent out an under-servant to give Isvostchik liis 
proper fare — about fifteen cents. Though I had been 
told that this hotel was one of the best in Russia, I was 
not prepared for so much comfort, and even elegance. 
There is no hotel in metropolitan St. Petersburg superior 
to it, and but one that would care to stand a com- 
parison. The dining-room is an immense vaulted hall, 
fully fifty feet high, with fountains playing softly among 
blooming flowers in the centre. Napoleon found noth- 
ing half so pleasant awaiting him some seventy years ago. 
The guide-books insist upon it that a commissionaire, 
or courier, is absolutely necessary for a foreigner who 
would see Moscow. But having had already some ex- 
perience in strange cities, I started out alone to make 
myself familiar with the general appearance of the place. 
I walked a little way along the street which runs before 
the hotel, and came full upon a, to me, most novel sight. 
On each side was a chapel brilliantly lighted up with 
hundreds of little candles. The walls were covered with 
the heads of saints, overlaid with plates of brass or gold. 
The Russians call these most peculiar and sacred pict- 
ures, Icons. They are found in every church, and in 
almost every house. They are looked upon with the 
greatest reverence. The most holy ones receive homage 
scarcely less than worship. The most venerated of all, 
the Iberian Madonna, is taken every morning in a coach- 
and-four to the homes of such of the nobility as are 
willing to pay liberally in cash for the blessings which 
are supposed to be secured. Though I failed to see this 
Madonna thus carried in state, a friend who called one 



214 Saunterings in Europe. 

afternoon, said that it had just passed him, and that 
every one had bowed more humbly than they would 
have done before the Tzar himself. 

It was not so much the two chapels filled with Icons 
that attracted my attention, as the people who were 
passing by. With but few exceptions, and these were 
probably foreigners or dissenters, those who were riding, 
removed their hats, even the Isvostchiks did this, and 
bowed to each of the chapels, and crossed themselves 
three times, while those who were walking, whether 
peasants in greasy sheepskins, or merchants and noble- 
men in rich fur coats, stood for some moments with bare 
heads, bowed many times almost till their foreheads 
touched the snow, crossed themselves repeatedly, and in 
not a few instances v/ent into one of the chapels, and 
purchasing a number of little candles, placed them be- 
fore the different Icons along the wall, not forgetting as 
they passed out to drop a few kopecks into the opened 
hand of the blind beggars standing by the doorway. 
All day long, from one year's end to another, this scene 
goes on. After a few days in Moscow you become so 
familiar with it, that it ceases to make any impression 
upon you. 

The streets, so far as they make any pretensions what- 
ever to regularity of form, run in broken circles around 
the Kremlin. This is a name familiar to every one, but 
the impression conveyed by it, is ordinarily wide of the 
truth. Europeans generally think of the Kremlin as a 
mysterious Russian building, having somewhere within 
its walls the largest bell in the world. They are natural- 
ly surprised when the Kremlin is found to be a little city 



Moscow. 215 

in the heart of Moscow. Its strong, high walls encircle 
cathedrals, and churches, and palaces, a court of law, a 
treasury, and an arsenal. A Tartar horde might gain 
possession of Moscow, as it sometimes did ; but here in 
the Kremlin the people could take refuge, and if well- 
provisioned, wait quietly till the enemy, tired out, had 
turned back over the broad Russian plains to his Asi- 
atic home. There are five gateways through which you 
may enter into this miniature city. One of these, the 
Redeemer's Gate, is the most sacred spot in the Tzar's 
dominions. Over the arch a picture of the Saviour has 
hung since the days when Moscow was a rude village. 
No Russian, whether peasant, or prince, or Tzar, ever 
passes under it without reverently removing his hat. In 
the chapel, at the side, is kept the Iberian Madonna, of 
which I have spoken. Whenever the Tzar comes to 
Moscow, it is said his first act is to drive here, and per- 
form a short service. Before this gate, the Russians be- 
lieve, the French cannon pointed at the sacred walls 
miraculously exploded. The ladders with which they 
sought to mount the ramparts and remove the frame of 
Christ's picture (supposed to be solid gold), broke re- 
peatedly, till in terror the soldiers fled from the spot. 
Historical truth and mythical legends have both built 
their arches high over this famous gateway. It is not 
always an easy task to detect the lines of juncture. 

Passing through this entrance into the Kremlin, you 
have almost immediately one of the best possible views 
of the city. It is the point usually chosen by artists, 
who have attempted to paint the burning of Moscow, 
as the spot where the solitary figure of the Man of Fate, 



2i6 Saunterings in Europe. 

wrapped in his long black coat, is made to stand in a 
position which speaks of the baffled ambition that filled 
his heart. Before you is spread out the larger part of 
what looks like a great Asiatic village, that by some rare 
chance has developed into a European metropolis. 
Across the bridges, over the Moskua, rush multitudes 
of the little public sleighs, with here and there a troika. 
The long and winding business streets are black with 
the crowds of buyers, or sight-seers. Hundreds of domes, 
small and great, painted green, or gilded, rise above the 
house-tops, and are reflected in the immense golden, 
orb-shaped roof of the '' Church of our Saviour." Be- 
hind you is the Tzar's palace, one of the most mag- 
nificent in Europe. Its two great halls, one dedicated 
to the Order of St. George, and the other to the Order 
of St. Alexander Nevskoi, have perhaps never yet been 
surpassed in gorgeous splendor. You are within a few 
feet of the largest bell in the world, called '' Ivan the 
Great." It is nearly twenty feet high, weighs some 
400,000 pounds, and might be made as comfortable a 
home for a peasant family, as the palace near by is for 
the Tzar. 

There is enough within the Kremlin walls to interest 
a visitor for days. It is, in fact, the treasure-house of 
Moscow. You can see here the rooms once occupied 
by Peter the Great ; the cannon dragged by Napoleon's 
soldiers through Germany and Russia, and left outside 
the walls by hands no longer able to draw the burden ; 
an ethnological museum of Russian and Tartar curiosi- 
ties ; and on Sunday the Russian service in old Russian 
churches as yet unchanged and untouched by the spirit 



Moscow. 217 

of the age ; or, should you be here on Easter, you may 
witness, so I was told, a most interesting and unique 
scene at the Kremlin cathedral. Just before midnight 
the crowd fills the square in front and around the church. 
Each one, whatever may be his rank, holds a lighted 
taper. At twelve o'clock an immense bell in the high 
tower of Ivan the Great begins to toll, and every iron 
tongue in Moscow rolls back an answer. A battery of 
artillery adds its thunder to the grandeur of the occasion. 
A procession of priests marches slowly around the church, 
shouting " Christ has risen." The people embrace each 
other — usually taking care to secure some friend for that 
purpose — repeating the words of the priests. A Russian 
that at other times may be as skeptical as any of his 
brethren in Berlin or Paris, has been known to cross 
himself most devoutly in the midst of this ceremony, 
and to grasp, in an excited way, the arm of a friend, 
shouting, " Look there ! There is a sight that you can 
see nowhere but in the ' white-stone city ' " (so Moscow is 
often called). '^Are not the Russians a religious people ? " 
One scarcely needs to see this Easter festival to be 
persuaded that, in a sense, the Russians of Moscow are 
religious. They give time and money most liberally to 
their Church. How thoroughly morality is interwoven 
with their religion, it is diflicult to say, as testimony is 
conflicting. 

After having seen the Kremlin, there is but little 
else to detain one long in Moscow. A ride through 
the streets and around the boulevard of the city ; 
a dinner at the most noted restaurant of the pure Rus- 
sian type, called the Hermitage, where the waiters are 
10 



2i8 Saunterings in Europe. 

dressed in the national costume, and where you are 
expected to eat caviar, and rejoice in the music of an 
orchestrian ; a visit to two or three of the finest pubhc 
buildings, not forgetting the new Church of the Saviour, 
whose pavement and walls are covered with rare polish- 
ed marbles, and the ceiling of the dome v/ith giant fig- 
ures of the Apostles looking down upon you with an in- 
tensely lifelike gaze, and you will find your thoughts 
turning toward the city on the Neva. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

ST. PETERSBURG. 

Contrasts to Moscow — A Russian Hermitage — Relics of 
Peter the Great— The Cathedral— Fortress of St. 
Peter, and St. Paul. 

WITHOUT a twist, or curve, straight on, as the 
crow is supposed to fly, runs the railroad from 
the ancient Muscovite capital to the modern metropolis 
of the Tzar. The last emperor, Nicholas, appointed 
himself chief and only surveyor for this route. Laying 
a ruler across the map from Moscow to St. Petersburg, 
he drew, what is mathematically considered the shortest 
possible distance between two points, and said, " Build 
the road there," and there it was built, and there, miles 
from some of the largest villages, through dismal wastes 
and swamps, the iron horse puffs on his way, as if in su- 
preme contempt for all the unfortunate creatures who 
live along the route. There is nothing to warn you 
that you are near St. Petersburg, till you are actually in 
it. It would be impossible to enter the Grand Central 
Depot in New York, without having been conscious 
some time before, that a great city was not far away : 
but I was greatly surprised when we stopped in St. 

Petersburg. We had passed by no factories ; we had 

(219) 



220 SaUNTERINGS IN EUROPE. 

seen no suburbs, and I could believe that we were there, 
only after having received several times the same answer 
to my question, and having seen that every one in the 
car, except myself, had made the necessary preparations 
for leaving. It was snowing lightly as we drove through 
the streets, but many of the flakes as they fell to the 
earth, received, as they are accustomed to in New York, 
such a warm greeting, that they instantly gave up the 
struggle for existence, and turned themselves into slush. 

The afternoon was not unpleasant, and I spent some 
hours in riding and walking around the city. The first 
impression made upon one who comes from Moscow, is 
the striking contrast between the two cities. In Mos- 
cow the streets are narrow and irregular ; in St. Peters- 
burg they are broad, and run mostly at right angles 
with each other. In Moscov/ the houses, though there 
are multitudes of them, are small, like those of a village ; 
in St. Petersburg they are large and high, like French 
flats, which indeed many of them are. In Moscow 
there are green little domes everywhere; in St. Peters- 
burg the domes are few, but these are large and gilded. 
In Moscow the chapels, with the devout crowds around 
them, are more noticeable, than the stores ; in St. Peters- 
burg these chapels are almost unseen, but the great win- 
dows of the shops are ablaze with attractions. Moscow 
is Asiatic ; St. Petersburg is European. 

After a somewhat general survey of the city, I went, 
as all strangers do, to the Hermitage. There are a few 
words in Russian that mean the same as in English, but 
this is not one of them. There is a Hermitage in Mos- 
cow, but it has nothing of the ascetic or monastic about 



St Petersburg. 221 

it. It is simply a Russian Delmonico's. But the St. 
Petersburg Hermitage has still a different character. It 
is a combination of the New York Academy of Design 
during a loan exhibition, with the Metropolitan Museum, 
both being increased fourfold, and placed in the largest 
and most magnificent building of Northern Europe — 
some enthusiasts would even scratch out that ^' North- 
ern. 

Catherine II. has connected her name with this as 
with a score of other famous edifices. Of the character 
of this foreign empress — she was a German by birth — 
it would be difficult to say anything very eulogic. But 
in the development of Russia she played a part only 
second to that of Peter the Great. It was during her 
reign that the Turk was driven back, with her firm hand 
upon his neck, till, if not rescued by Western Europe, 
he would have been throttled on the shores of the Bos- 
porus, under the walls of Constantinople. She assisted 
in the most active manner in the partition of Poland. 
She developed also to a remxarkable extent the educa- 
tional and mercantile interests of her empire. All the 
laws she made were proofs of her sincere desire for the 
prosperity and progress of the people. Though she may 
have thought only of her own pleasure in the building 
of this Hermitage, she has unconsciously laid her own 
people, and all foreigners who visit the city, under obli- 
gations to her taste and skill in planning, and her bold- 
ness in execution. Since her tireless hands and active 
brain have been silent, this edifice has been very greatly 
changed — probably improved — in form and appearance. 
Her collection of paintings and statues has been swal- 



222 SaUNTERINGS IN EUROPE. 

lowed up in the immense additions of later days. Could 
Catherine walk once more through these halls of marble, 
as she was wont to do after the royal and fatiguing 
business of the day was over, she could scarcely be 
angry in such a scene of beauty, that even her imperial 
designs have been so often altered or ignored. It would 
not be true, to say of this gallery, as was so truly said of 
the Louvre in Napoleon's day, " All the capitals of Eu- 
rope have been robbed for its adornment." Though there 
are no stolen pictures or statues here, except a few from 
the palaces of Warsaw, yet almost every European capi- 
tal has furnished its quota of attractions to the Hermit- 
age, for its agents have gone everywhere, and have pur- 
chased such entire collections as those of Houghton and 
Walpole in England, the Empress Josephine's in France, 
beside several smaller galleries belonging to the French 
nobility, while Amsterdam, Dresden, Rome, and Madrid, 
have each yielded up some of their treasures for Rus- 
sian roubles. Rubens, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Potter, 
and Murillo, are not only here represented, but one of 
them, Rubens, it is said, has here some sixty, more or 
less, famous pictures. Raphael, Michael Angelo, da 
Vinci, and Carlo Dolce, are also here, though the Her- 
mitage does not claim to be the possessor of their most 
noted works. 

For one who is not very artistic, neither the paintings 
nor the statues will be looked upon with greater interest 
than the rooms devoted to the relics of Peter the Great. 
The first page of Russian history read by all Europe, 
was written by this wild, strong man. Every school- 
boy knows that he was the founder of the Russian Navy, 



St. Petersburg. 223 

and learned to build ships among the common work- 
men in the yards of Holland; but older students know 
that there is far more in Russia than the navy, which 
must trace its origin back to him. He conquered the 
land along the Baltic, where harbors could be built, 
from which his ships could find egress. Before his day, 
Russia had no port in European waters, except on the 
White Sea. He brought in art, and science, and litera- 
ture, from the West and South. He built this capital 
on the Neva, " that he might have a window," as he 
said, '* by v/hich the Russians could look into civilized 
Europe," That window has ever since afforded a place 
for the Russians to look out, and for English, French, 
and Germans to look in. To Peter belongs the honor 
of having introduced Russia to the modern world. The 
city that bears his name, will always be his greatest 
monument ; but to see this city, is to feel an increased 
desire to know more of this man whose will was as great 
as his gigantic body. In one wing of the Hermitage, 
multitudes of objects associated with his life, are sacred- 
ly preserved. The carpenter's tools with which he 
worked, and some of which he made, the iron rod he 
used as a walking stick, the stuffed skin of the horse he 
rode at the battle of Pultowa, with three of his favorite 
hounds in the same case, a vast number of the presents 
he received, and some of those he gave ; all these and a 
thousand other wonders are in this gallery of Peter the 
Great. In his lifetime half Russia thought him a mad- 
man, or an incarnate spirit of evil. He crushed beneath 
those enormous feet of his, the most ancient and sacred 
customs. 



224 Saunterings in Europe. 

As the head of the Russian Church, the Tzar has in 
the eyes of the people a semi-reHgious character, which 
these autocratic rulers have been accustomed to acknowl- 
edge and to respect ; but all this was foreign to Peter's 
taste and method of life. He exercised with great readi- 
ness his power in the Church ; he even made a radical 
change in its constitution, by the substitution of a Holy 
Synod in the place of the Patriarch of Moscow, who had 
always been its chief dignitary. But in his own life and 
personal appearance, Peter ignored completely its au- 
thority, teachings, and customs. He shaved his beard — 
then a heinous crime for a Russian Tzar. He travelled 
in foreign lands, and mingled with the common people, 
as if a Russian Emperor were not made of different clay 
from the rest of mankind. He did other things even 
more inappropriate, we should think, for the head of the 
Church, and the priests and the more orthodox among 
the people were horrified, and were brave enough to say, 
" Antichrist has seated himself on the Russian throne." 
There may be some who still cling to this opinion, but 
the vast majority of the Russians remember only Peter's 
services to his country. He is their hero. A turning- 
lathe made by his hands is almost as holy as an Icon. A 
great room filled with mementoes of him, is a Mecca for 
a Russian, and an exceedingly interesting place for a for- 
eigner. The Gallery of Peter the Great will always be 
one of the most popular places in the whole capital. 

Close by the Hermitage, and joined with it by covered 
passage-ways, is the Winter Palace, the home of the Tzar 
when in St. Petersburg. Of its immense size I can speak 
with confidence, but of the elegance and magnificence of 



St. Petersburg. 225 

the Interior, said to surpass that of the palace at Moscow, 
I can say nothing. The royal family make this their home 
during the winter, and as the imperial household, includ- 
ing body guards and servants, numbers, according to the 
statements of all the guide-books, between five and six 
thousand, the palace is sufficiently well filled without 
the addition of any strangers, and every door, meta- 
phorically speaking, has upon it " No admission." A 
long bridge of boats connects the palace and the main 
part of the city, with the island of Basil. Some of the 
largest public buildings are on this island ; two custom 
houses, the old and the new, two academies of science 
and of art, two schools of mines and of the marine ca- 
dets, and an edifice used probably more often than any 
of the others — the Exchange. I visited the Academy of 
Art, and found there a collection which would have been 
more interesting if I had not already seen the Hermitage. 
From this pontoon bridge the view both up and 
down the river is exceedingly fine. Both sides of 
the Neva, as far as one can see, are banked with solid 
blocks of stone. On the mainland, above the palace, 
are long rows of beautiful houses. A half mile to 
the left is the great fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul ; 
the only appropriateness in the name, consisting in 
the fact that part of the space within the walls is 
occupied by a cathedral, which bears the same title. 
Under its tall gilded spire, one of the most prominent 
objects in the city, lie the bodies of Peter the Great, and 
with but one exception, those of all his royal succes- 
sors.^ Only a little way from this fortress, is the most 



* It is here that the murdered Alexander II. is buried. 



226 Saunterings in Europe. 

noted house in St. Petersburg. It was the first one built 
on the banks of the Neva. Here the founder of the city, 
the Great Peter himself, lived during those years when 
this swamp was being filled in with earth solid enough to 
bear up the immense buildings which stand there to-day. 
As I turned and looked westward toward the Gulf of 
Finland, a round red ball, into whose dull face you could 
peer with no fear of being dazzled, was just sinking be- 
low the horizon. It was but three o'clock, and the sun 
was setting. A weird, almost unearthly light was reflected 
from the windows of the tall houses along the banks, and 
from the frozen snow that covered the ice. The foot- 
passengers who had disdained the bridges, and were cross- 
ing between the green branches that marked the path 
where the ice was firmest, looked, in the fading sunlight, 
like beings of another race, whose home perhaps was in 
the Neva, and who had come up through some uncovered 
spot, to gaze upon the world for a moment in this twi- 
light hour. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE STABLES, AND CHURCHES OF ST. PETERSBURG. 

A Ctitiatis Art Gallery — Si. Isaac's — Christmas So-vices — ■ 
A Russian Monastery — Prayers for the Dead, 

AT St. Petersburg, as at Versailles, the royal sta- 
bles vie in interest with the royal palace. A re- 
quest for admission was all that was necessary to secure 
the desired permit to inspect them. We passed between 
long lines of horses, in luxurious stalls, each with his 
name carved over his head, and found, among the three 
hundred and fifty reserved for the carriage, and the one 
hundred and fifty for the saddle, a score or more of full- 
blooded English and Arabian steeds. Crossing a court- 
yard, and ascending a broad staircase, we entered the 
museum of carriages where all the State equipages are 
kept. The idea of comparing a collection of wagons 
with an art gallery, had never before suggested itself 
to us. But in this St. Petersburg museum such a com- 
parison is by no means incongruous. There is nothing 
here to remind one of the blacksmith-shop ; everything 
to suggest the goldsmith and the artist. Here are 
great equipages, like little golden houses mounted on 
wheels. The broad surfaces of gold are broken only by 

exquisitely painted panels, any one of which might claim 

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228 Saunterings in Europe. 

a place in the Hermitage, or the Louvre. The walls are 
hung with Gobelins tapestry, reproductions of Raphael's 
paintings. Some are biblical or mythological scenes ; all 
are masterpieces of their kind. I did not count them, 
but there must have been in these rooms at least a hun- 
dred enormous coaches, and sleighs, overlaid with gold 
and inlaid with jewels. Each of them might make a 
chapter in Russian history. Like dead men, they tell no 
tales, but the world would listen eagerly if two or three 
of the most famous could describe some of the scenes in 
which they have played a part. 

In a corner of one of the rooms, stands a glass case 
containing the greatest treasure in the collection, It is 
a covered sledge, made entirely by the hands of Peter 
the Great. In the body are seats for two, while in front 
is a seat for the coachman, and behind, a standing place 
for the footmen. It is complete in every part, and does 
no little credit to the mechanical ingenuity of a man 
who could build either a sleigh or a city. 

However sudden may be the transition in thought 
from the imperial stables to the Cathedral of St. Isaac's, 
it is in fact but passing from one scene of Oriental mag- 
nificence to another. A stranger utterly unfamiliar with 
the language, will have, perhaps, but few more religious 
emotions in St. Isaac's, even during a service, than in 
the museum of carriages. This church is said to be 
" the most gorgeous north of the Alps." This is 
not an exaggeration. The architect who drew the 
plans, and the contractors who executed them, seem 
to have been given unlimited discretion as to the ex- 
pense to be incurred. No attempt has been made to 



Stables and Churches of St. Petersburg. 229 

ornament the exterior with statues or carving. But 
this plain, unadorned immensity is most imposing. A 
great dome overlaid with gold rises above the centre , 
enormous pillars of granite, sixty feet in height, hewn 
each from a single stone, and beautifully polished, up- 
hold the porches at the four entrances. Between these 
you pass into the cross-shaped interior. The immensity 
is not less impressive than from the exterior, while to this 
is added almost unimagined splendor. All that Russian 
art could do with rare stones, and mosaics, and paintings, 
has here been done. The pavement is of variegated 
marbles. Some of the columns supporting the roof are 
of solid malachite ; around the others the stone has 
been so perfectly fitted that no difference can be detect- 
ed. On every available surface is a painting or mosaic 
of some scriptural or saintly character. There are mo- 
saic figures in the chancel, of Greek priests and patriarchs 
in official robes, of which the colors are so brilliant, and 
so exquisitely blended that in the dim light of the Ca- 
thedral the effect is far finer than could have been pro- 
duced with the brush. Behind high thick doors covered 
with gold, which are thrown open only at a certain time 
during the service, is a small circular temple of almost 
indescribable magnificence, presented to the Emperor 
by Prince Demidoff, the owner of the Siberian malachite 
mines. The cost of this alone is said to have been one 
million dollars. 

I saw in this church the ordinary Sunday service, and 
also the somewhat extraordinary services connected 
with the Russian Christmas. On each occasion, from 
the chancel, where the sacred temple is kept, half-way 



230 Saunterings in Europe. 

down the Cathedral, a wide aisle had been carpeted. 
Up and down this, between the holy shrine and a reading- 
desk and altar in the centre of the edifice, the archbishop 
and bishop, with jewelled crowns and embroidered robes, 
followed by their priests (there must have been a score 
of these on Christmas-day — I saw one of them quietly 
combing his long hair during the service), marched in 
stately procession, intoning the liturgy and making the 
sign of the cross over the people. Standing on each 
side of this aisle, and filling comfortably a large part of 
the church, were a thousand or more people on Sunday, 
while on Christmas-day the Cathedral was packed with 
such a mass of peasants in sheepskins, and merchants, 
nobles, and officers in fur cloaks, that the deep prostra- 
tions so common in the Greek service were almost im- 
possible, except for the latter three classes, most of 
whom had places inside the chancel, to which only the 
well-dressed were admitted. The entire service was in- 
toned. The responses were made by a choir of richly- 
robed men and boys. The music, unaccompanied by 
any instrument, was peculiar, but in no way particularly 
fine. The choir, I have no doubt, did as well as possi- 
ble with the material at their disposal. Besides the 
larger crowd, and the increased number of the priests on 
Christmas-day, the only other difference I could detect was 
a more brilliant light produced by the immense chande- 
liers filled with thousands of wax candles. These were 
lighted during the service, and the process seemed to 
have almost as much interest for many of the Russians, 
as it had for me. A cord of some inflammable material 
had been so skilfully arranged, that when the end hang- 



Stables and Churches of St. Petersburg. 231 

ing toward the pavement was touched by a torch, the 
flame leaped upward, and round and round the chande- 
lier, till every candle-tip had been touched and kindled. 
It was in itself an exceedingly pretty sight ; but in the 
perfect stillness which for a moment prevailed, followed 
by a burst of song, while the shadows played over the 
polished walls, it was not only pretty, but impressive. 

There was no sermon, or anything like either teaching 
or exhortation, on either occasion. It is only on very 
rare festivals — so I am told — that the Russian Church 
commands, or permits the introduction of this important 
elem.ent of a Protestant, and sometimes also of a Romish, 
service. The language of the liturgy is not that of the 
people. Very few of the Russians around me understood 
any more of what was said and sung, than I ; and I un- 
derstood but one word — the Hallelujah, so often repeated. 

With the hope of seeing part of the service in a much 
older, and equally famous church, I took one of the lit- 
tle sleighs standing before the door of St. Isaac's, and 
rode through the long Nevskoi Prospect Street, the 
Broadway of St.. Petersburg — to the Nevskoi Monastery. 
The Russian Church has its monks and monasteries, like 
the Roman. A hundred years ago some of them were 
immensely wealthy. That at Troitsa is said to have 
owned 120,000 serfs. In the last century these institu- 
tions were stripped by the State of their lands and serfs, 
yet even now the monks suffer neither from poverty of 
spirit or purse. Every monastery has its chapel, and 
every chapel has its sacred tombs and icons, where the 
faithful pray and make their contributions. The chapel 
of the Nevskoi Monastery is an immense church, with a 



232 Saunterings in Europe. 

great dome. It is scarcely smaller or less Imposing than 
a cathedral. Though I was too late for the service, 
there was still much of interest to be seen. This church 
is the fortunate possessor of a solid silver sarcophagus, 
very valuable in itself, but of untold value to the mon- 
astery, as it contains the body of a saint. Both men and 
women, as they approached, bowed many times, till their 
foreheads almost touched the pavement, and remained 
some moments kneeling before it, with their heads bent, 
crossing themselves, and apparently offering supplica- 
tions to the spirit of the departed. This was more like 
Moscow than anything I had yet seen in St. Petersburg. 
I walked through the halls of the monastery, between 
the long rows of cells, hoping to find some one of them 
open for the inspection of visitors, but they were all tight- 
ly closed, and for the most part as silent as if their occu- 
pants wore shrouds, instead of monkish gowns. I won- 
dered what these big men (they are nearly all large and 
strong) were thinking of on the other side of those black 
doors. It would be interesting to know what this world 
looks like when seen from the windo^vs of a Greek 
monk's cell. 

In another part of the building, in what appeared to 
be a more private chapel, was the coffin of some Russian 
officer who had lately died. It was covered completely 
with flowers, with the exception of a small space in the 
centre for his long-plumed helmet and richly mounted 
sword. At the head stood a boy some sixteen or eight- 
een years of age, dressed in a long black robe, holding 
before him a book from which he was reading. I have 
heard monotonous readers and speakers ; I have listened 



Stables and Churches of St. Petersburg. 233 

to guides reciting, parrot-like, the information they have 
committed to heart; but I never knew before to what 
heights of perfection it is possible for monotony to at- 
tain. If the officer was not dead when brought in here, 
I felt sure he was now; no one could live through more 
than an hour of this. But the poor boy was rather to be 
pitied than laughed at. He was apparently reading 
prayers for the dead. This was probably the regular 
work which he had been obliged to do several hours each 
day since he was ten years old. I did not wonder, as I 
watched him for a few moments, that he had turned into 
a machine, and ground out the words as regularly, and 
with as little emotion, as an automaton. Who, after six 
years of such a life, would do better? 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE ICE-HILLS OF ST. PETERSBURG. 

Narrovj Sleighs and Troikas — Building an Ice-Hill — The 
First Ride— ' ' Go Faster. ' ' 

IT was nearly ii o'clock of the night celebrated as 
Christmas by the Greek Church, as I was returning 
with a friend from the house of an American gentleman 
who has lived some forty years In St. Petersburg, that 
the subject of Ice-hills was mentioned. I spoke of hav- 
ing read, many years ago, a magazine article concerning 
them, which had given me a desire, that I had not yet 
lost, to see this characteristic Russian amusement. My 
friend at once offered to become my guide If we could 
succeed In finding, at that late hour, a horse fleet enough 
to take us over the three miles before the process of 
freezing could be entirely completed. 

After some searching we met with reasonable success, 
and drove as rapidly as possible to the house of my 
friend for his hand-sleigh, and a fur coat, In which he In- 
sisted upon enveloping me. Half a mile further on, we 
changed for a sleigh that was scarcely broader than the 
one we held upon our laps for use on the hills, but the 
horse was a Russian trotter, and whirled us over the 
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The Ice-Hills of St. Petersburg. 235 

snow as if he heard the sharp bark of a pack of wolves 
just behind. 

It was full moonlight. The air was perfectly still, but 
the mercury in a Fahrenheit thermometer would have 
been sluggishly coquetting around the zero point, and as 
we swept on like a miniature whirlwind, the runners of 
our little sleigh making the frozen snow ring with that 
peculiar sound which only frozen snow can make, I be- 
came each moment more enthusiastic, and more grateful 
for the thick fur behind which I sat as warm and com- 
fortable as in a house. The scene was thoroughly novel. 
We had left behind us the lights of St. Petersburg ; had 
looked out for an instant, as we rushed over a bridge, on 
the bay of Finland, and we were now on a level country 
road, with only here and there a house along the way. 
Weird shadows lay upon the snow. They seemed to rise 
up and pursue us in vengeance as we broke through them. 
But this country road, even at this late hour, was not 
deserted. There were many little sleighs like our own 
going and returning. Every now and then we would 
hear bells approaching, and a troika, with its laughing, 
singing load, and its three horses, the one in the middle 
trotting, and those on the sides leaping like greyhounds 
over the snow, flew by toward the city. 

We drew up almost too quickly before an inn, brilliant- 
ly lighted and filled with people. In the hall hung a 
mass of heavy fur cloaks and coats. Adding ours to the 
number, we walked across the road to the ice-hills. It 
is almost as difficult to describe a peculiar object to one 
who has never seen it, as a peculiar emotion to one who 
has never felt it. The process of comparison, passing 



236 Saunterings in Europe. 

from the unknown to the known, is often helpful in such 
an attempt, but there is nothing in America to which 
these Russian ice-hills can be compared. One other 
method is possible, that of telling how they are made, 
and for what they are used. 

As a preliminary observation which may serve me as 
a sort of foundation upon which to build this explana- 
tion, let me say that coasting in Russia is not confined, 
as ordinarily in America, to those who are in their 
" teens," and for them, to a few short weeks in mid- 
winter. A Russian must be very old indeed, to be too 
old for this amusement, and that must be a very remark- 
able winter in which he may not enjoy his favorite sport 
for many months. This then is the philosophical basis 
of the ice-hills — now the material. 

In the summer or fall are built two inclined planes 
facing each other, some fifty feet high, and some three 
hundred feet apart, and shaped like the stone dam at 
the end of Croton Lake, which all New Yorkers, from 
both city and State, are supposed to have seen. Direct- 
ly through the centre is a partition, thus making a double 
track, so that shooting off your hill toward the south, 
there is no danger of telescoping your neighbor who is 
just shooting oft^ his hill toward the north. Both these 
hills and the long tracks in front of them, are covered at 
the beginning of winter with cakes of ice, over which 
water has been skilfully poured, till the whole surface is 
as smooth as polished ivory. You ascend the steps 
carrying your coasting sleigh, and find at the top a little 
summer-house — if it were not winter. You look over 
this cataract of ice into the valley, and feel much more 



The Ice-Hills of St. Petersburg. 237 

like taking a seat on the benches than kneeling on the 
cushioned top of your friend's sleigh, which he has al- 
ready pointed over the precipice. But you are ashamed 
to say — at least I was — that one who has been an Ameri- 
can boy is afraid to coast, and when to my suggestion 
that he should go down alone at first, my friend said 
" Oh no ! " I saw there was no help for it, and knelt be- 
hind him with my arms around his neck, as if he were 
the last friend I had on earth, and I was about to lose 
him. One push of his foot and we were off ! 

Did you ever happen to go over Niagara Falls in a 
row-boat? If you have, then you know the sensation 
of riding for the first time down the polished surface 
of a Russian ice-hill. There must have been an abun- 
dance of air in Russia the first second or two after 
we left the top, but I gasped, and could find none. 
The condition of the peasants, the size of the army, 
the communal government of the villages, and a hun- 
dred other questions in which I had been interested 
as we drove out of St. Petersburg, were instantly for 
me obliterated. I could not have told what my own 
name was. I saw nothing, except my friend's head, and 
knew nothing, except that my arms were around his neck, 
and that too great a pressure on either side would send 
us against the broad railings. On we went ; perhaps some 
kinds of lightning go faster, but I have my doubts. When 
we struck the level, I breathed again, but there was only 
ti>ne for one breath when we reached the snow, and the 
trip was over. I felt like a hero, and should have been 
glad to have retired on my laurels, but my friend was half- 
way up the steps, and ready for the return. I used to 



238 Saunterings in Europe. 

think it an exaggeration that eels can become used to 
being skinned ; but why not, when a Russian ice-hill, 
after three or four trials, loses all its terror, even for creat- 
ures so full of nerves as we, when even ladies, properly 
escorted, ride here in the most perfect indifference, 
and wish that they could go faster ! Who that has ever 
had this experience will dare to place narrow limits to 
the possible ? We rode long enough for all unpleasant 
sensations to be replaced by agreeable ones ; long enough 
to be reasonably satisfied, and then, though new parties 
were constantly coming, we concluded it was time to 
drink our glasses of Russian tea, with the usual slice of 
lemon, and start for home. 

The warm glow from the delightful exercise had not 
yet departed, as we drew up before the hotel, after a 
rapid homeward ride. As my friend shook hands and 
said good-bye, I felt that on the ice-hills of St. Peters- 
burg, during this, the last night of my sojourn in Russia, 
I had enjoyed one of the most novel experiences of my 
life. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

FROM BERLIN TO PRAGUE. 

Four Days in Leipsic — Roninisccnccs of Napoleon and 
Ltither — The Saxon Capital — The old City of Prague — 
A Synagogue Service. 

WITH mixed feelings of regret and anticipation, I 
left Berlin after a sojourn of some six months. 
It is always unpleasant to go away, perhaps forever, from 
a place where one has received enjoyment and profit ; 
doubly unpleasant to go, as I did, in the fiercest snow- 
storm of the whole winter. But between the driving 
flakes hovered such bright visions of Dresden and Vien- 
na, Munich and Brussels, that I, metaphorically, dried 
my tears and looked hopefully into the cushions of the 
seat before me. They have no '' cowcatchers " on Ger- 
man locomotives, so the smallest kind of a snow-bank 
can laugh at the most energetic efforts of the unarmed 
engine to eject it from its lodging-place. We should 
have been — we would have been, if we had had a " cow- 
catcher" — in Leipsic in three hours, but the clock struck 
eight times before we had crawled through the snow in- 
to the town. 

I spent some four days there, seeing much more 
of the city than on my previous visit, and having 

(239) 



240 Saunterings in Europe. 

also the opportunity of listening to some of the most 
famous lecturers in the university. As it snowed on each 
of the four days, it was not a favorable time to visit the 
battle-field, which holds almost as large a place in history 
as the city itself, but I went up into the old tower of the 
Pleissenburg, once used as a palace, and looked out over 
the field where Napoleon saw his hope of becoming the 
master of all Europe, swept away in the blood of 60,000 of 
his soldiers in those three October days in 181 3. Far off 
to the south-east rises a little hill, upon which, it was once 
believed, the three allied monarchs of Russia, Austria, 
and Prussia knelt together, and gave thanks for the vic- 
tory which had been won. Along that road, now so 
covered with snow as scarcely to be discernible. Napole- 
on sullenly retreated. Over that bridge which crosses 
the Elster, he marched with a part of his broken army, 
but the order he had left was misunderstood, and while 
the bridge was crowded with his soldiers it was blown 
into the air, and thousands that had escaped the dangers 
of the battle-field, met their death in the muddy waters 
of the river. What stream is there in Europe that does 
not flow over the bones of some of Napoleon's soldiers? 
I spent a day also in Halle. The world-wide fame of 
its university received new brilliancy during the last half 
century from the two giants in theology who had their 
homes here — Tulloch and Julius Mulier. The modest 
homes where they lived, and worked, have now become 
hallowed places, visited each year by multitudes from 
every land who have sat as students at the feet of these 
men. In the market-place, not far from the old clock 
tower almost 300 feet high, stands a monument to Han- 



From Berlin to Prague. 241 

del. It was erected by the combined subscriptions of 
the two nations — England and Germany — who alike 
gloried in his genius. He is surrounded by emblems of 
the art which he did so much to interpret to his fellow- 
men. 

Nearly three hundred and forty years ago a professor 
from Wittenberg came to Halle, one mid-winter day, 
on his way to Eisleben. His health had been greatly 
enfeebled by the arduous labors and fierce struggles of 
the sixty-three years which had passed since he first saw 
the light in the little town to which he was journeying. 
The last thirty years have made him the most famous 
man in Europe. Kings have called him friend, and asked 
his counsel. He is making this, his last journey as he 
felt it to be, at the request of the Counts of Mansfield, 
to decide a dispute between them. Crossing with great 
difficulty and danger the streams swollen by the melting 
snow, he reached Eisleben almost exhausted, but preach- 
ed, at the earnest request of the people, four times in the 
different churches of the town. Two days later, while sit- 
ting at the table with his two sons and an intimate friend, 
he lost consciousness for a moment and was carried to 
the bed, from which his body was borne to the grave by 
the hands of men who loved him. All night he spoke 
but little, and then only German and Latin texts of 
Scripture ! Between two and three o'clock the next 
morning, Martin Luther left the world, from the same 
town in which he had entered it. Following almost the 
route he took from Halle to Eisleben, I sought out the 
house, and stood in the room where he was born. The 
whole building is devoted to the memory of the re- 
1 1 



242 Saunterings in Europe. 

former. His pictures hang upon the walls. His books 
fill the cases. Articles that he once used are everywhere. 
The atmosphere is full of Luther. It is scarcely a ten 
minutes' walk to the house where he died. History has 
few more interesting pages than the story of those years 
that passed from the hour when he came into this, and 
went out of that. Here he sat by the table when the 
coldness of death came over him, here on a bed in this 
room he folded those hands that had never been black- 
ened by an act of meanness, over a breast that had been 
the home only of noble desires ; and fell asleep. 

It was still snowing as I reached the Saxon capital. 
There have been many great battles fought around Dres- 
den, but the name of the city now recalls rather scenes 
of beauty, than of blood. For the bric-a-bric enthusiast it 
is one of the great European centres of attraction. For 
the artist or the lover of art, Dresden is unrivalled 
either by the cities of Germany or Austria. It prides 
itself on being the possessor of three of the twelve 
greatest pictures in the world, one of which by common 
consent has scarcely its equal even in the land that gave 
birth to Raphael, and Angelo, and Da Vinci. This piece 
of canvas, not ten feet square, which draws thousands 
of strangers every year to Dresden, was painted by 
Raphael as an altar-piece for one of the smaller Italian 
churches. It is known as the Sistine Madonna, and 
holds a position among all other Madonnas, not unlike 
that which Mary herself has among Romish saints. 
Passing by a multitude of pictures, almost any one of 
which is a fortune in itself, I went directly to the little 
room in the corner of the gallery where Raphael's paint- 



From Berlin to Prague. 243 

ing has been most skilfully hung. I had expected to 
be disappointed — if such an expression is allowable— 
but no description I had ever read of this Holy Mother; 
of the Divine child, had exceeded the truth, none had 
reached it. Life always baffles description, and these faces 
are alive. The genius of the world's greatest painter 
has wrought upon this canvas a miracle of art. An in- 
fidel might worship that infant Christ ; a Puritan that 
Madonna. There are other great pictures in this collec- 
tion by Corregio, and Paul Veronese, and Guido Reni, 
but out from all these, and from all other paintings that 
I have yet seen, shine the faces of Mary and her child. 
Besides its art gallery and its china, Dresden is one of 
the richest of cities in its jewels. They are preserved 
in a great vault, divided into eight rooms, in a wing of 
the royal palace. Bronze, and ivory, and amber, and 
silver, and gold, have been wrought into every imagin- 
able form. The birds of the air and the beasts of the 
field, and the fishes of the sea, are here with bodies of 
precious metal, and with eyes of jewels. Here is a great 
egg of gold, laid doubtless by the famous hen that un- 
wise people are always killing, and here is an immense 
pearl carved with wondrous skill, and not less wondrous 
folly, into the form of a dwarf. That green diamond, set 
as a hat clasp, weighs over five ounces ; this onyx, seven 
inches high, is the largest in the world, and there is one 
of the most curious toys in the whole collection ; it rep- 
resents the court of the Grand Mogul in Delhi. Every 
figure, and there are one hundred and fifty-two, is of en- 
ameled gold. The throne upon which the monarch sits, 
the canopy over his head, the slaves standing in long 



244 Saunterings in Europe. 

lines, the body-guard of soldiers, are all of gold. So is 
the ground upon which they stand. This pretty play- 
thing is worth a king's ransom. 

Less curious, but more interesting than the green vault, 
is the historical museum, said to be the most valuable of 
its kind in Germany. In such a collection as this we may 
catch a glimpse of the life of the last three centuries. You 
have before you the ornaments with which the houses 
of the rich were filled, and more important still, the 
arms with which they protected their castles, and de- 
stroyed their neighbors. The armor worn by the Cath- 
olic and Protestant leaders in the thirty years' war, en- 
ables us to understand, as no page of history could, how 
a knight of that century looked, and fought. The State 
costumes of that, and both earlier and modern periods, 
show the more luxurious and effeminate side of the war- 
rior's life. In one of the cases in this latter room is a 
coat, a pair of boots, and velvet slippers, that every one 
looks at. They were Napoleon's. Those are the boots 
he wore at the battle of Dresden, and those the slippers 
which covered his royal feet when he marched up the 
aisles of Notre Dame, in Paris, to place the imperial 
crown upon his own head. Did ever so much ambition 
before or since step upon so small a piece of leather ! 

One of the most charming railway rides in Europe is 
from Dresden to Prague. The road runs through the heart 
of Saxon Switzerland. These mountains, and valleys 
and lakes, have received this title not from courtesy, but 
from desert. This Switzerland of the north, though less 
grand than its southern namesake, has the same charac- 
teristics, and excites the same emotions. In an hour 



From Berlin to Prague. 245 

after leaving Dresden, the scenery has lost that flatness 
which forces a large part of Northern Germany to rely 
for its interest almost entirely on historical association. 
We are then in sight of the most celebrated of all these 
peaks, the Rigi of the North, the Bastai. From its 
summit spreads out the fairest vision in Germany. 
This old castle of Konigstein, hanging from that peak a 
thousand feet above the river, with its towers shining like 
gold in the setting sun, would rivet attention, and com- 
pel admiration even if it were not famous for the sieges 
it has withstood, and the royal treasures v/hich it has 
protected when Saxony was overrun by victorious ene- 
mies. The Lilienstein, there just over the river, the 
highest of all the Saxon mountains, has an interest of 
its own which is certainly heightened by, but is not de- 
pendent upon, the fact that Frederick the Great in the 
seven years' war here surrounded and starved into sur- 
render a Saxon army of 14,000 men. At Bodenbach 
we cross the Austrian frontier, and are obliged to have 
our baggage examined. It is done in the most kind- 
hearted and superficial way — and we pay for what we 
buy in guldens, and kreutzers, instead of marks and pfen- 
nigs. 

As night had come on, I feared it would be im- 
possible to see anything of Bohemian Switzerland, 
through which we were passing, but as the sun set the 
moon rose, and its light, being reflected by the snow, 
gave to the scene a beauty greater than that of day. 
So we rolled on for two hours or more, till we heard be- 
neath our wheels the subdued roar of the Moldau, and 
saw the lights of Prague. Such a weird old town is this 



246 Saunterings in Europe. 

Bohemian capital, encircled by almost as many legends 
as there are towers on its wall, that we would not 
have been greatly surprised if we had found on entering 
the gates, the streets filled Avith a procession of ghosts 
and spectres. I was fortunate enough to meet here, two 
Berlin friends, one a tutor in Harvard, the other a doctor 
in Boston, and together we set out in the morning to see 
as much of the city as possible in one day. We looked 
first for the long stone bridge which we knew connected 
the two parts of the town. But the streets of Prague 
are as irregular as a French verb. Just where you think 
they ought to lead, is the place they take you farthest 
away from. We roamed around for half an hour or more, 
stumbling every few moments on some quaint old house, 
or historic church. Now we found ourselves before the 
Rathhaus, with its fine tower, and curious clock which 
used to strike twenty-four times, instead of being forced 
to start again, like its degenerate successors of our day, 
after having counted twelve. Here was the spot, only a 
few feet away, where twenty-seven Protestant nobles 
were beheaded after their defeat on the Weisenberg. 
Thirteen years later, a similar scene was enacted here, when 
eleven officers of the Catholic army were executed by 
the command of their general, Wallenstein, for cowardice 
in the battle of Lutzen, where they had fled before the 
charge of the Swedish king, Gustavus Adolphus. A 
moment later we passed the Teyn church, part of which 
was built in 1460, where the body of the famous Danish 
astronomer, Tyclio Brahe, is entombed at the foot of one of 
the great columns. 

At last we saw the bridge before us, and at the 



From Berlin to Prague. 247 

same time, on the other side of the river, the massive 
palace of the old Bohemian kings, the Hradschin, 
with many of the mansions of the nobles. There is no 
bridge in Europe where more thrilling scenes have oc- 
curred than on these stone arches over the Moldau. 
The high towers at each end have been more than once 
defended with the desperation of men fighting for their 
homes. The water beneath has too often been reddened 
with blood. Near the middle, where a marble tablet 
and a cross now mark the spot, St. John of Nepomuk 
was thrown into the river, because he refused, like a 
man, to betray to the king the secrets which the queen 
had revealed to him in the confessional. The cruel 
monarch little thought that he would make the name of 
the poor priest more famous than his own. The saint's 
body, so the legend says, was surrounded by a halo of 
glory as it rose to the surface. No one ever saw any- 
thing like that around the king's coffin, and though the 
saint was murdered nearly six hundred years ago, his 
bones, kept in a great tomb of solid silver, are still the 
most sacred relic of the Cathedral. 

We ascended the long hill by several hundred stone 
steps to the entrance gate of the palace. Walking across 
the immense court, the guide, by whom we had been 
captured after a short siege, pointed out the place where 
the elector Frederick, from HeideJberg, and his wife 
Elizabeth, entered a great coach to escape from a king- 
dom which Frederick's irresoluteness had lost in one 
winter. Here within the palace walls stands the Gothic 
cathedral where Frederick was calmly listening to a tirade 
against the Church of Rome, while his soldiers on the 



248 Saunterings in Europe. 

Weissenberg were being ignominiously beaten by the 
well-trained and skilfully commanded Catholic troops. 
From that door he rushed, as the thunder of the guns 
broke the stillness, to mount his steed and ride madly 
down the hill, only to meet the remnants of his army 
wildly fleeing into the city. One hundred and forty years 
afterward, Frederick the Great, a very different man from 
his electoral namesake, broke with his cannon-balls the 
windows of this cathedral, beheading at the same time 
some of the statues of these sculptured saints. We took 
hold of a great iron ring which hangs against the door of 
one of the chapels, to which a holy man, St. Wenzel, clung 
more than 900 years ago, while his inhuman brother drove 
his sword into his breast. We went through some of the 
rooms of the palace and saw the window from which the 
Protestants, enraged by the unlawful seizure of their 
churches, threw two of the Catholic officials with their 
secretary. Their flight from that window to the earth 
beneath, marks the beginning of the thirty years' war, in 
which it is estimated not less than 20,000,000 of men, 
women, and children lost their lives. From where we 
stood the whole city lay beneath our feet. Far beyond 
were the blue hills on which the Hussites fought 400 
years ago for a purer faith and a more complete religious 
liberty. We looked down just beneath us on the long 
roof of Wallenstein's palace. It was built by this most 
successful of all the Catholic leaders in the thirty years' 
war, while he was living in the broad sunlight of imperial 
favor, and supporting a magnificence which surpassed 
even that of the Emperor himself. 

Prague became, to its eternal honor, the refuge dur- 



From Berlin to Prague. 249 

ing the Middle Ages of multitudes of Jews driven by 
cruel decrees from Southern Europe. One portion of the 
city has for centuries been wholly given over to them. 
To leave Prague without having walked through the 
Juden Stadt, as this is called, would be to miss one of 
its most marked and interesting peculiarities. The nar- 
row streets were lined with shops hung inside and out 
with musty, half-worn clothing. Cracked voices issuing 
from toothless mouths, under beak-like noses, besought 
us to buy, in Bohemian, and German, sprinkled now and 
then with a word of English. Old men, and boys scarcely 
less ancient and no less hideous in appearance, pressed 
their services upon us as guides. Keeping steadily in the 
middle of the roughly paved street — for there were no 
sidewalks — we pushed on to the old synagogue. There is 
no building in Prague more picturesque in its antique- 
ness than this. One wing is said to have been built of 
stones brought from the ruins of the temple at Jerusa- 
lem. It is not many years ago that this strange little edi- 
fice was rediscovered, and dug out from the debris that 
had long covered it many feet in depth. We were told 
the discovery was made by some children at play. 

We were just in time for the Friday evening service. 
There were perhaps thirty men in the room as we en- 
tered. The women met in a different part of the build- 
ing. I have been through State prisons, and have visited 
penitentiaries, but never have I seen more terrible faces 
than some of those we found there. An old man was 
reading from the book of the law ; some, but onl>' a few, 
listened devoutly; the rest were apparently discussing 
the number of guldens they had paid for the last assort- 



250 Saunterings in Europe. 

ment of cast-off garments. It was more pleasant to close 
the eyes, and think of the ancestors of these men, a hun- 
dred or more of whom, as the story runs, poured out their 
blood over this very pavement, rather than yield their 
honor to the rabble of so-called Christians who had driven 
them from their houses into this refuge. The service was 
soon over, and we went out, followed by two most un- 
attractive-looking men, who walked closely behind us 
through a number of streets, and were after our pocket- 
books, so one of our party thought. But on our stop- 
ping and suggesting that some explanation of their con- 
duct was. desirable, they had no demands to make except 
a request for our patronage. That night, as we talked 
over our journey for the next day to Vienna and re- 
called what we had seen and done in Prague, there was 
no dissenting voice to the opinion, that while there are 
many cities in Europe with fewer varieties of odors, and 
dirt, there are very few in which twelve hours can be 
spent with a larger return of interest, and profit, than in 
the old Bohemian capital on the banks of the Moldau. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

SOUTH GERMAN CITIES. 

A Dash Through Vietina — Beautiful Salzburg — Mu- 
nich — Ancient Augsburg — Nurei7iberg — An Uncon- 
taminated Piece of the Middle Ages. 

THE ride from Prague to Vienna is one that does 
not long linger in the memory. The scenery is far 
less beautiful than in Saxon and Bohemian Switzerland. 
You see a fev/ castles of no special interest, and one or 
two monuments where Frederick the Great either won or 
lost a battle. You pass by the field of Wagram where the 
struggle culminated between Napoleon and the Austrian 
army which had begun almost two months before at the 
villages of Aspern and Essling, and then very soon, the 
great dome of the old exhibition building in the Prater 
looms up before you, and in a moment more you shoot 
under the vaulted roof of the railway station. You 
must still ride several miles before you are fairly in 
Vienna. When once the city had broken through the 
old wall in which it was so long '^ cribbed, cofifincd, and 
confined," it widened so rapidly that the suburbs soon 
became larger than the inner town. From the station 
you ride through this, the most beautiful part of Vienna. 
You pass square after square of great buildings, many 

(251) 



252 Saunterings in Europe. 

of them in the very best architectural style. You have 
scarcely ceased to admire some massive palace of the no- 
bility, before you are forced to begin to admire some pub- 
lic gallery or State edifice. The moment you enter the 
Ring-strasse, the new boulevard around the city, the eye 
is greeted by a constant succession of magnificent shops 
and cafes and private residences. Before the hotel is 
reached, unless Paris is very fresh in your remembrance, 
you are ready to say, '' Vienna is the finest city north of 
the Alps." 

One might spend weeks here without losing inter- 
est in this strange combination of an ancient and modern 
capital. It requires something of an effort to believe 
that in this city, which shows scarcely more signs of age 
than one of our new world towns, a thousand years 
ago Charlemagne lived for a time, and more than fifteen 
hundred years ago Marcus Aurelius, the noblest of Roman 
emperors, and one of the purest heathen moralists, met 
death with the bravery of a Socrates. The occupant of 
that palace over yonder belongs to a family whose first 
representative, Rudolph of Hapsburg, came here six 
centuries ago, and ever since, this house has furnished 
emperors for Austria, and, for a good part of the time, for 
Germany too. Though the Turk has thrice pitched his 
tents outside the city v/alls. Napoleon is the only foreign 
monarch who ever made a triumphant entry through its 
gates. He stayed but a short time, and in the same pal- 
ace at Schoenbrun, in the same room where he lived, his 
son, whom he hoped would perpetuate his name and glory, 
thirty years later closed his life and the hopes of a Na- 
poleonic dynasty in Europe, 



South German Cities. 253 

There are few capitals that present a finer aspect 
than this Austrian city from the spire of St. Ste- 
phen's. Encircled by a chain of noble mountains and 
by the waters of the beautiful blue Danube, Vienna 
sits as proud and stately as an Oriental queen. With 
her gorgeous court, her rich nobles and her well- 
trained army, till within the last two decades there was 
no power on the continent that did not tremble before 
her ; but twice in those years her armies have been de- 
feated, and her banners captured. At Solferino she 
was beaten by the French, at Sadowa by the Prus- 
sians. Driven out of Italy after Solferino, it was a still 
more terrible blow when she was driven out of Germany 
after Sadowa. Vienna can never again hope to exert 
great influence either along the Tiber or the Rhine, yet 
it is the unanimous judgment of her own citizens, and of 
foreigners, that Austria is happier and more prosperous 
now than in the days when her power was more widely 
exerted. The people have more liberty, and the Emperor 
has more love. 

While Vienna contains so much of general interest, 
it is unlike most other cities in not possessing any 
two or three objects which every one must see. Its 
art gallery is very rich, especially in the works of Al- 
brecht Dlirer and Rubens, but multitudes go away with- 
out having spent an hour in the Belvidere. Its treasure 
vault is only surpassed by that of Dresden, but if you 
have seen the greater, you will scarcely care to visit the 
less. Its churches are numerous, and some of them very 
beautiful, but you might not enter any of them, and yet 
suffer no very great loss. I should have made an excep- 



254 Saunterings in Europe. 

tion, perhaps, of two rather small, and in themselves un- 
interesting churches. One of these is the burial place 
for the royal house of Austria. You descend a long 
flight of stone steps into a vault filled with great tombs 
of iron and copper. Here, by the side of her husband, 
lies the most famous of the Austrian queens — she who 
was capable of arousing such enthusiasm among the dis- 
contented Hungarian nobles that they shouted, as she 
held her little child before them in her arms, " We will 
die for our king, Maria Theresa." Here is Marie Louise, 
the wife of Napoleon, and her son, the Duke of Reich- 
stadt. Here, too, is the ill-fated Maximilian, pierced 
with Mexican bullets. His poor wife, crazed with grief, 
waits for death in a Belgian palace. In the vault of the 
other church, sealed in silver urns, are kept the hearts 
of all who lie in this royal tomb. A silken cradle — a 
golden throne — a coffin of bronze — an urn of silver — such 
are the stages that mark the lives of the house of Haps- 
burg. This church also owes its fame to an exquisitely 
beautiful memorial to the Princess Christiana, a daughter 
of Maria Theresa, carved by the magic chisel of Canova. 
The grief which the skilful artist has expressed on the 
marble faces of the sorrowing angel and his companions, 
would touch even a heart of marble. 

As Alexander von Humboldt said that the scenery 
of Salzburg, of Naples and Constantinople is the finest 
in the world, I determined, having read this in the 
guide-book, to go a little out of my way and spend 
the night at the first of these highly-praised places. 
It was snowing fiercely as I reached Salzburg, and un- 
fortunately it was both snowing and blowing the next 



South German Cities. 255 

morning as I started out to see as much of the town as 
possible in a very short time. Neither the attempt to 
hold up an umbrella, or to dig little snow-banks out of 
the corners of the eyes, is conducive to the highest en- 
joyment of a beautiful scene, but even under such un- 
favorable circumstances I saw enough of Salzburg to 
understand how Humboldt was able to speak so enthusi- 
astically. A high cliff of rocks rises almost in the centre 
of the town. A grand old castle sits proudly above it. 
A river, crossed by many bridges, rushes under the walls, 
and between the two portions of the city. Around the 
horizon, great snow-capped alps can be seen, when the 
atmosphere is not thick with falling snow, as it was that 
day. Naples and Constantinople must be beautiful in- 
deed if they surpass Salzburg. Even between Salzburg 
and Munich one can see much to admire on each side of 
the railroad. The country is dotted with charming lakes, 
to which, in summer, excursionists swarm from all parts of 
Austria and Bavaria. 

Munich has been rapidly winning for itself a high 
place in public favor. Many are drawn here by the 
fame of her galleries, and teachers of art. Some who 
have spent months in Italy, find that Munich scarcely 
suffers by the comparison. The Pinakothek, the gal- 
lery of painting, and the Glyptothek, of sculpture, are 
among the most celebrated in Europe, while the pal- 
ace was so beautiful, even two hundred years ago, that 
Gustavus Adolphus is said to have wished that he might 
remove it to Sweden. Since its walls have been so gor- 
geously decorated with scenes from the history of the 
middle ages, and the legends of the Niebelungen-Lied 



256 Saunterings in Europe. 

many others, kings and commoners, have cast covetous 
eyes upon it. The centre of the town, the Marien Platz, 
is also the central point of interest. The old Rathhaus, 
with its tall tower, on one side of the square, is of the 
best school of ancient architecture, while the new Rath- 
haus, on the other, is an equally good representation of 
the modern. Where a statue of the Virgin now com- 
memorates Maximilian's victory on the hills around 
Prague, in the beginning of the thirty years' war, many 
a fierce tournament has been fought. Facing this statue 
of the Virgin — which stands to-day as a monument of 
his forbearance — is the house where Gustavus Adolphus 
lived in 1632. On the corner of one of the streets lead- 
ing from the square, Mozart had rooms for a time, and 
there completed, as the inscription informs you, one of 
his great musical compositions. This is old Munich, the 
Munich of narrow streets, and high gabled houses, and 
historical associations, but modern Munich has its boule- 
vards, and blocks of great nev/ buildings, and that vast 
monotony of magnificence with which nineteenth century 
architects are gradually remolding all European cities 
into an uninteresting sameness. Yet the modern, though 
far less picturesque, is undoubtedly far more comfort- 
able. We love to visit old squares and antique houses, 
but we like to live in buildings scarcely older than our- 
selves. 

The oldest parts of Munich seemed comparatively 
new as I looked around Augsburg. When the Ba- 
varian capital was founded in 11 58, the Schwabian city 
was alread}^ a flourishing town. More than six hundred 
years ago Augsburg was made free and independent. 



South German Cities. 257 

In the sixteenth century some of her merchants had 
raised themselves to princely rank, and to more than 
princely wealth. Three of her daughters married princes. 
The family of Fugger. which still exists, became so wealthy 
that Charles V., the Emperor of Germany and lord of 
Spain, borrowed money from them, and felt greatly re- 
lieved when the liberal merchant threw the imperial 
note into the fire-place, v/hich is shown to-day as one of 
the curiosities of the city. It was here, in 1530, that the 
same Emperor called the famous council of the Catholic 
and Protestant leaders. Melanchton had drawn up, with 
great care, a number of articles which expressed the 
faith of the Protestants, but the Emperor commanded 
these to be read in one of the smaller rooms of the 
bishop's palace, and at an early hour, so that they might 
be heard by as few of the people as possible. But, so 
the story runs, it was a very warm morning, and through 
the windows, which were thrown open to admit the fresh 
air, the loud voice of the reader found its way to the ears 
of the great crowd which quickly gathered. Though the 
articles very naturally failed to m.eet with the Emperor's 
approval, they were acceptable to so many of the princes 
and peasants, that the Augsburg Confession, as it is called, 
is one of the best known religious documents in exist- 
ence. With the exception of a comparatively small 
number of newly-built houses and the removal of the 
old wall, the city, though smaller now than then, pre- 
sents very much the same appearance as on that warm 
day in June three centuries ago when the Confession was 
first read. Tall houses of four, five, and six stories over- 
hang the streets. Along the front of some of the finest 



258 Saunterings in Europe. 

old buildings, such as the Fugger house, are frescoes of 
historical scenes that occurred here. 

If one would see what a beautiful German city was 
three centuries ago, one must go to Augsburg — or at 
least they should if they can not visit Nuremberg. 
Here my enthusiasm, which had been greatly stirred at 
Augsburg, was raised to the highest pitch. Augsburg has 
a modern taint, but Nuremberg is an uncontaminated 
piece of the middle ages. The moat, the city's wall, the 
great gates, the massive castle, are all here now as they 
were hundreds of years ago. The hands alike of Time, 
and the soldiers of the thirty years' war, and the modern 
architect have made scarcely a trace. If one has been 
charmed with the houses of Augsburg, one will be 
obliged to invent a new and stronger word for the emo- 
tions awakened by those of Nuremberg. Nearly all the 
buildings are interesting in their quaintness, but there 
are here, some six or eight, each of which in its way is a 
perfect gem. One of the oldest and most beautiful of 
these, the Nassau house, was built ninety-two years before 
Columbus sailed across the Atlantic. It is perfectly pre- 
served, and is no unfit rival for the Church of St. Law- 
rence, which stands just opposite, and which was built a 
hundred years earlier. The home of Albrecht Durer, 
the most famous of all the celebrated artists and citi- 
zens of Nuremberg, is scarcely less beautiful, while the 
house of the renowned meister singer, Hans Sachs, 
though much more modest, is scarcely less interesting. 
Even when the exteriors are unattractive there may be 
an interior court, columned and richly carved, with 
statues of the saints at the corners. New York to-day, 



South German Cities. 259 

has nothing to compare in taste, and elegance, with some 
of these old Nuremberg houses as they must have been 
three centuries ago. And the castle, called the Burg on 
the Hill, which Conrad II. began to build in 1024, and 
which Frederick with the red beard — Barbarossa — enlarg- 
ed a hundred years later, with its well so deep that you 
can pour water into it six times before hearing the first 
splash, from which subterranean passages lead into the 
town, and the linden tree in the court-yard planted eight 
hundred years ago by the hand of the Empress Kuni- 
gunde, and the old chapel, where for eight centuries 
emperors and kings have worshipped, and the apart- 
ments where for as many certuries they have lived — 
who would not climb the hill, though it were twice as 
long, and twice as steep, to see all this? And then the 
view from the windows along the turreted wall, and 
over the city, and across the meadows which have often 
been stained with blood ; — it is a sight worth the seeing, 
and he who has once seen it, need not fear that the vis- 
ion will soon be forgotten. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

FROM STUTTGART TO ANTWERP. 

Reminiscences of Schiller — Metz and its Fortress — The 
Belgian Capital — Cities of the Past — The Belfry of 
Bruges — The Long Branch of Belgiiivi. 

STUTTGART is very beautiful as you look down 
upon it from any of the hills around the city. The 
streets are broad, the houses are large, and fine ; both 
the old palace and the new are grand buildings, and 
charmingly situated ; but Stuttgart has a deeper interest 
than these things can give. The most beloved, and most 
widely read of all the German poets, spent here the un- 
happiest years of his life. Frederick Schiller was en- 
rolled in 1773 as a member of a new professional school 
which had just been established in Stuttgart. By his 
own choice, and that of his father, he was about to study 
for the ministry, when the offer of free instruction from 
the Duke of Wurtemberg, if he would choose another 
profession, caused him, from fear of offending his 
father's royal patron, ^' to turn," as Carlyle has ex- 
pressed it, '' with a heavy heart from freedom and cher- 
ished hopes to Greek, and seclusion, and law." With no 
love whatever for his studies, he was permitted after 

two years to change law for medicine, for which he had 
^260) 



From Stuttgart to Antwerp. 261 

scarcely more inclination. " He still felt," so says his 
biographer, '' all his present vexations aggravated, by 
the thought that his fairest expectations for the future 
had been sacrificed to worldly convenience, and the 
humblest necessities of life." A meaner nature would 
have been driven into sullen indifference, or bitter hatred 
of the world. Schiller was driven to his pen. Out of 
these hard experiences in the Stuttgart school came 
" The Robbers," to this day one of the most popular of 
his works. The gloom that hung over the young poet's 
life — he was then but nineteen — cast its shadow on the 
pages of his drama. Its hero struggles fiercely against 
cruel misfortunes, only to be at last overwhelmed and 
crushed. All the miseries which Carl Moor suffers, 
Schiller had felt. The character is intensely real, for it 
sprang from his own heart. 

Stuttgart, after the publication of ''The Robbers," 
became still more unbearable to Schiller than it had 
been before. While all Germany was ringing with 
the praises of this new genius, who might almost 
hope to rival the divine Goethe, the now famous 
author was called into the presence of the grand 
duke, reprimanded for the dangerous democratic ten- 
dencies of his play, censured for its literary blemishes, 
and commanded to confine his exertions in future 
to medical subjects, or to publishing such poems as his 
royal highness had read and corrected. It was bad 
enough, so the grand duke thought, to write dramas, 
and when to this offence Schiller added a still greater 
by going to see his drama acted on the stage at Mann- 
heim, the duke's rage nearly proved fatal to the poet. 



262 Saunterings in Europe. 

Warned of his danger, Schiller fled the town empty- 
handed and heavy-hearted, while the palace was ablaze 
with light, and the streets rang with cheers of welcome 
to some prince whose proud name even is forgotten, 
while that of the young fugitive is so written on the 
world's literature that a hundred centuries will not efface 
it. Looking down from the hills upon Stuttgart, it is 
of Schiller's trials and sorrows you think. Walking 
through the streets it is for his house you search. 

However we may have been impressed by a place 
on seeing it the first time, there is often, on returning, 
a sense of disappointment. The enchantment is gone. 
I had feared such an experience in Heidelberg. I might 
have spared myself these unpleasant anticipations. 
The mountains had not yet clothed themselves with 
their summer robes, and all the beauty of their swelling 
outlines was revealed to the eye. The glistening Neckar 
uncovered beauties, that in the autumn had been hidden 
by the thick shade of the forests that line its banks. The 
towers, and turrets, and windows of the castle, had noth- 
ing with which to hide their nakedness. Out of the dense 
masses of ivy, and trailing vines, peered statues of empe- 
rors and knights doomed by their position to forgetfulness 
and darkness for six months at least of every year. If 
Heidelberg was not more beautiful in March than in Oc- 
tober, it certainly seemed scarcely less so. 

Snow and hail beat against the windows of the cars 
nearly the whole day as I crossed the Rhine at Mann- 
heim, and rode toward Metz. We wound around for 
hours, through the valleys, and over hills that might 
have been called mountains, and just at evening 



From Stuttgart to Antwerp. 263 

reached the town which Von Moltke has called '* a 
loaded pistol held against the breast of France." 
Though there is nothing to show that great bat- 
tles were fought around these walls only a few years 
ago, there is everything to show that a terrible strug- 
gle is expected to take place here within a few years to 
come. Metz is perhaps the strongest fortified city in 
the world. You hear continually the tap of the drum. 
Regiments of soldiers are constantly marching through 
the streets, and drilling in all the large squares. Wagons 
loaded with guns, and ammunition, roll heavily through 
the gates. Though filled with foreign soldiers, it can not 
be said that Metz is treated as a conquered city. The 
police regulations are probably not so strict as in Berlin. 
There is no greater coercion of the people here than in 
any other part of Germany. Two or three of the shop- 
keepers with whom I talked, said that at first the Prus- 
sians were bitterly hated, but the new Government had 
been so fair and impartial, and men of such judiciousness 
and ability had been sent to command the immense garri- 
son, that public opinion had undergone a great change, 
and the mass of the people were now contented. 

I was advised to ascend the spire of the cathedral 
— a fine Gothic church of the thirteenth century — 
if I wished to have a beautiful view. Usually suc- 
cess in such an undertaking depends entirely on wind 
and muscle, but in a very few moments after leav- 
ing the pavement, I found that all the other virtues 
which are ordinarily supposed to be included in mus- 
cular Christianity, would need to be brought into active 
exercise. There were places so narrow that I had to 



264 Saunterings in Europe. 

walk sideways like a crab ; there were places so dark 
that my only guide was an iron rail, to which I clung as 
convulsively as a blind beggar to the rope of his little 
dog. But when I had pushed my way through the dark- 
ness and dust, and had reached the top, where an old 
man, who looked as if he might belong to some mysteri- 
ous race, was busily engaged feeding a flock of pigeons ; 
the view was all that I had been promised. The strange 
old man who had his home here among the clouds, pointed 
out the different fortresses around the city, and the bat- 
tle-fields which were reddened, by the blood of more than 
70,000 French and German soldiers on the 14th, i6th, 
and 1 8th of August, 1870. War has its glories for the 
few, but what are they compared with its heartrending 
sorrows for the many? To look out over the battle- 
fields of Metz and think of the scenes which have there 
been enacted, might almost turn a cadet into a Quaker. 
It was rather owing to the imperfections of the time- 
table, than to any desire on my part, that I spent a few 
hours in Luxemburg on the way to Brussels. It is very 
unfortunate that no great historical event has ever oc- 
curred here, for a more picturesque town it would 
be difficult to find anywhere in that part of Europe. 
Two small, but noisy, rivers have eaten their way 
through the high hills on which the city stands. The 
steep, rocky banks have been turned by the skill of man 
into fortresses. A new town has grovv^n up under the 
old, close by the water. Factories and mills ordinarily 
have a somewhat commonplace appearance, but here 
they seem almost beautiful from the attractiveness of 
their situation. If some great man had been good 



From Stuttgart to Antwerp. 265 

enough to be born here, this would surely have been 
one of the most popular of cities. 

Brussels reminds every one of Paris, partly be- 
cause of its boulevards, and partly because so much 
French is spoken. Some of Belgium's enemies say, 
that her people have all the faults of the French 
and Germans, the two races from which many of them 
are derived. Certainly from what I saw in Luxem- 
burg and Brussels, I should think them far more noisy 
and disorderly than their neighbors. Whatever the 
people themselves may be, the Belgians have no cause 
to blush for their capital. Though I spent but a 
short time in Brussels, I could easily understand why so 
many English and Americans choose it as their conti- 
nental home. The Hotel de Ville is architecturally the 
most interesting building in Brussels, and the square be- 
fore it, from its historical associations, is entitled to a 
rank equally high. It was within this building, at least 
so the guides say, that the rank and beauty of Belgium's 
capital were dancing when they were startled by the 
rumble of cannons at Waterloo. It was in the square 
before this building, so history says, that Egmont, one 
of the noblest of noblemen, whom Goethe has immortal- 
ized, was beheaded by the inhuman Alba. 

I had intended to go out to the battle-field on which 
the fate of Europe was decided and the '' man of destiny " 
forced to yield ; but as the ground was still covered with 
some inches of snow, instead of taking the coach for 
Waterloo, I took the train for Ghent. Who would be- 
lieve that this quiet old town, with it grass-grown streets, 
was called in the sixteenth century '' the largest city in 
12 



266 Saunterings in Europe. 

Western Europe " ? Though it was the middle of the 
afternoon when I entered it, the people seemed to have 
fallen into a Rip Van Winkle sleep. There was nothing 
to remind one of the nineteenth century, except two or 
three horse-cars rolling lazily along. If Ghent is half 
dead now, it was full of life once. More than four hun- 
dred years ago she had 80,000 men capable of bearing 
arms. For five years she fought single-handed against a 
king. She can claim great names among her citizens. 
The German Emperor Charles was born here. The 
famous son of Edward III. is known in history as John 
of Ghent. . Her Market Square has been the scene of 
pageants as gorgeous, of riots as bloody, and terrible, as 
any in Europe. With her old Rathhaus and belfry, 
from whose high tower looks down a golden dragon, 
taken from the Church of St. Sophia at Constanti- 
nople by Baldwin VII., and her still older cathedral, one 
of the most beautiful churches in Belgium, Ghent is now, 
and must long be both for the historian and antiquarian, 
far too interesting a city to be passed by. 

What the glory of Bruges, the neighbor and rival of 
Ghent, must have been five hundred years ago, appears 
from a remark made by the Queen of Navarre when she 
visited the city with her husband in 1301. " I thought," 
she said, '^ that I alone should be queen, but I see here 
hundreds like myself." The wharves of Bruges were then 
crowded with richly laden vessels from Venice, and Ge- 
noa, and Constantinople. Woolen cloths from England, 
linen from Flanders, and silk from Persia, filled her great 
warehouses. Bruges is to-day what she was when 
Southey wrote of her: 



From Stuttgart to Antwerp. 267 

" Fair city, worthy of her ancient fame, 
The season of her splendor is gone by, 
Yet everywhere its monuments remain." 

There are some 50,000 people now living in Bruges, 
but they seem almost like ghosts of the past as you see 
them walking about among mouldering temples, and 
ruined palaces. You expect them to stop you and tell, 
as poor garrulous old men love to, how they and their 
city have once seen better days. For them the present 
is uneventful, and the future hopeless, but the past is 
filled with splendors. Life must be for the inhabitant 
of such a city a perpetual looking back. 

Bruges has an academy of fine-arts which is the pos- 
sessor of some very good paintings, but the great 
artistic attraction of the town is to be found in one 
of the hospitals. A wounded soldier, after the bat- 
tle of Nancy in 1477, came to Bruges, and was nursed 
back to health in the hospital of St. John. Because 
of this kindly treatment, as it is supposed, Hans Mem- 
ling presented a number of pictures to this humane 
institution. Probably neither the giver, nor the receivers 
of the gift ever suspected its value. Memling's paintings 
draw every year more people to Bruges than either the 
cathedral or the bell-tower. In their way they are scarce- 
ly less than perfect. He has told with his brush the 
story of Ursula, the English princess and saint who went 
to Rome with eleven thousand virgins to receive the 
Pope's blessing, and who was martyred with her com- 
panions at Cologne on her return. He has thrown a 
distinct individuality into each face. He has given to 
the murderers and the saints just the expression they 



268 Saunterings in Europe. 

ought to have had, if they did not. The mystical mar- 
riage of the holy Catharine, and the adoration of Christ 
by the kings, are but little less wonderful in vividness of 
conception, and perfectness of execution. 

In a half hour you can pass from Bruges, with Its 
mouldering buildings, to Ostend, where there are 
whole streets lined with houses on which the paint is 
scarcely dry. This is the Long Branch of Belgium. 
In July and August all these wide porches and broad 
terraces along the sea are crowded with Belgians and 
Germans, with here and there a sprinkling of French 
and English. There is just enough of Ostend in March 
to serve as a foundation upon which the imagination is 
able to build up something which is probably not very 
unlike the fashionable watering-place as it is in mid- 
summer. The three or four hours I had to spend here 
were amply sufficient, and I was glad to be once more 
rolling over the level plains, and across the canals of 
Belgium toward Antwerp, the most important of the 
sea-port tov/ns in the little kingdom. The lights of the 
city were glistening in the Schelde as we crossed the 
little village on the left bank, which Napoleon failed to 
make, as he had hoped, a more important town than 
Antwerp itself. I hurried through the deserted market 
place, and under the tall spire of the cathedral, dimly 
outlined against the dark sky, and stopped for a moment 
before the great statue of Rubens in the Place Vertu, 
and wondered if on the morrow I should be as enthusi- 
astic as almost every one else, over his two masterpieces, 
the Elevation on the Cross, and the Descent from the 
Cross ! 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

ANTWERP AND HOLLAND. 

Rubejis' Master-pieces — Dutch Pluck— The Venice of the 
North — The Lights of Amsterdam — The City of Eras- 
mtis — The Place where the Synod Met. 

A MORE uninteresting interior than that of the 
cathedral at Antwerp, it would be difficult to im- 
agine. Yet the work of one man of genius has made 
this church the most attractive place in Belgium. It 
would be better for one's reputation to leave the city 
without having seen the docks, and the still more re- 
markable basins, in which a hundred ships can be un- 
laden, than to go away without having seen Rubens' 
most famous paintings. Very wisely, I think, these 
treasures are veiled during the services, but there are 
certain hours in the day when, by the payment of a email 
fee, you are permitted to enter and gaze to }'our heart's 
content. One glance is sufficient. You are willing to 
concede to Rubens the high place among the immortal 
masters which was long ago given him by the world's 
consent. You may have seen scores of Rubens' pict- 
ures in Paris, and Dresden, and Vienna, and received 
from them no very distinct or memorable impression ; 
they have blended with a hundred other paintings that 
hung on the same walls ; but the Elevation on the Cross, 

f26q) 



2/0 Saunterings in Europe. 

and the Descent from the Cross, are separated from all 
his other works, not only by the judgment of artists, but 
by the not less authoritative verdict of memory. Like 
the Sistine Madonna, when you have once looked upon 
them they are yours forever. The canvas may hang in 
the cathedral at Antwerp, but the scarcely less than 
divine forms that Rubens has there traced, have been 
so caught in the very fibres of your imagination that 
you can always cause them to pass once more before 
you. Out of a dispute which arose over a little plot of 
ground, came the greatest of these paintings. There is 
no piece of land in Belgium or in Europe that has pro- 
duced better fruit. Surely no quarrel before, or since, 
ever resulted in so much good to the human race. 

Between Antwerp and Rotterdam old buried roads 
are said to have been discovered, which prove, it is 
thought, that the Netherlands were inhabited and culti- 
vated long before the name appears in historical records. 
Those who lived here centuries ago were doubtless con- 
quered by the sea and perished, with almost every vest- 
ige of their work. The struggle between man and his 
old, tireless enemy for these lowlands, is still going on. 
The marvellous energy and persistency of the people is 
due in no small degree to this ceaseless conflict. Their 
courage and skill have risen as their lands have sunk. 
To the force of the waves they have opposed an uncon- 
querable will. Victory and defeat alike have strength- 
ened their determination to succeed. At an enormous 
cost of time, labor, and human life they have at last 
won. They have laid out gardens, and built villages, 
and towns, and cities, sixteen feet below the level of the 



Antwerp to Holland. 271 

ocean. They have surrounded their country with a 
mighty breastwork, against which the ocean beats, and 
over which in its wild perpetual fury it throws its white 
foam. If ever there was a conquered land held by force 
of arms it is this. The men of Holland have more than 
once shown themselves as ready to tear down their dikes 
as to build them up, when the occasion has seemed to 
call for such a sacrifice. Much as they feared the ocean, 
they feared the cruel Alba and his bloodthirsty Spanish 
soldiers more. Much as they loved their well-tilled 
fields and comfortable homes, they held to their faith 
with far greater affection, and when all their efforts had 
failed to protect their hearths and altars with musket 
and spear, they opened the dikes, and purchased, at the 
price of all they had, the aid of their old enemy against 
the new. 

For eighty years these lowlanders carried on their 
struggle with Spain. The necessities of the hour 
called forth at last a man brave enough and skilful 
enough to be a leader. He spoke so little, this William 
of Orange, that he became known as " the silent." 
He threw all his energy into action. He combined 
the five provinces of the north into a republic. As the 
commander of their united armies he was driving every- 
thing before him, when his great heart was pierced 
by the assassin's dagger. His son Maurice, fitted by 
the inheritance of his father's virtues for the position, 
was chosen as William's successor. Under his leader- 
ship the young republic grew great. Her armies soon 
became strong enough to attack as well as to defend. 
Her navy swept the seas, and tore many a richly laden 



272 Saunterings in Europe. 

galleon out of Spanish harbors, and from the protection 
of Spanish war-ships. An ill-advised treaty with Spain, 
brought for a time the appearance of peace, but, relieved 
from the fear of a foreign foe, hostile parties arose in 
the State. To the fury of their hatred, John of Barne- 
veld, one of the noblest names in Holland's history, fell 
a victim. After the death of Maurice in 1625, his 
brother Frederick, a man of mild and gentle disposition, 
governed the republic with great wisdom for more than 
twenty years. This was Holland's golden age. Success 
followed hard upon success on sea and land. His son, 
William H., who succeeded him, lived but three years. 
Then came one of the most exciting eras in the short 
life of these free States. Two brothers who had risen 
from the people, John and Cornelius De Witt, wielded 
the chief power for more than two decades. Many an 
English, as well as Spanish flag was captured by the 
Dutch admirals. In sixteen months they won twelve 
victories. But when reverses came, and the generals of 
Louis XIV. marched at the head of French soldiers into 
the heart of the land, an infuriated mob rushed through 
the streets of the Hague to the houses of the De 
Witts and put to death, in their frenzy, the two broth- 
ers whose whole lives had been devoted to the welfare 
of their country. 

Once more a governor was chosen from the house 
of Orange. A man was called to the front whose 
name was destined to occupy as large a place in the 
history of England as of Holland. William HI. was 
made head of the republic in 1672. The grand mon- 
arch of Versailles found his match in this plain man. 



Antwerp to Holland. 273 

The magnificent plans that Louis had formed to bring 
all Europe under his sceptre, were thwarted by these 
free States of the North. For this, William deserved 
and received the gratitude of a continent. Having 
married the daughter of James, Duke of York, he was 
called upon by the English to unite with them in 
driving his tyrannical father-in-law from the throne. 
After an almost bloodless contest he was elected by the 
British Parliament in 1684 to be, with his wife Mary, the 
ruler of Great Britain. The destinies of Holland and 
England were for the time united, but with William's 
death the glory of the republic began to wane. The 
story of its steady decline, and death, is more sad than in- 
teresting. Napoleon gave it the last blow when, in 1806, 
he made his brother Louis king. What strange freaks 
time plays with the great ! The son of that Louis made 
himself Emperor of France, and died an outcast in En- 
gland ; his son, born in the Tuileries, went out to Africa 
as an English soldier, and fell in an inglorious struggle 
with a half-savage tribe. 

From Antwerp I went directly to Amsterdam and 
found myself in one of the quaintest cities of Europe. 
Every large street has its canal running through the 
centre and crossed by drawbridges of the most marvel- 
lous structure and appearance. Some of the tall houses, 
with their peculiar overhanging roofs, look as if they had 
lifted their heads out of the v/ater to gaze about for a 
moment at this strange world. Venice itself can scarcely 
have more individuality. How such blocks of buildings, 
such palaces, and markets, and warehouses, could be 
erected on wooden piles driven into the sand, is a mys- 



274 Saunterings in Europe. 

tery to the uninitiated. We think of the Hollander as 
fat, good-natured, and indolent, but what other people 
would build dikes around a piece of sand, and on such 
a foundation raise a beautiful city? 

Taking the train the next morning back toward Rot- 
terdam, we passed through Leyden, whose heroic re- 
sistance to a terrible siege for more than four months 
by a Spanish army, has carried her name and fame to 
the ends of the earth. Though I had only an hour to 
spend in the Hague, I determined in that time to 
see something of the town and art gallery. Rushing 
through the streets at the most terrific walking pace I 
could command, clutching with both hands an opened 
map of the place, which I was obliged to consult at 
almost every turn, I found the square of the Binnen- 
hof, where John of Barneveld was beheaded ; and but a 
short distance away the gallery which I particularly de- 
sired to see because of two or three very famous pictures. 
There was no difficulty in finding these in so small a 
building, but after I had sufficiently admired the young 
bull by Paul Potter, and Rembrandt's school of anatomy, 
I found that there was such a large number of good pict- 
ures and so few bad ones in this collection, that as many 
hours as I had moments might have been profitably used. 
Crossing one of the largest squares of the city, in whose 
centre stands a great statue of William the Silent, with 
the inscription, " To the Prince of Orange, the father of ^ 
his country," I hurried back to the station just as the 
train for Rotterdam entered it. I should have liked to 
spend an hour or so at Delft, to visit the palace where 
the Prince of Orange was murdered, but the choice was be- 
tween seeing this and Rotterdam, and so I kept my seat. 



Antwerp to Holland. 275 

Rotterdam has many of the features of Amsterdam, 
but is less interesting. Here, again, are streets with 
canals through the middle, and houses with their tops 
hidden by masts and flags of all nations. The wharves 
are crowded with ships and steamers laden with every 
imaginable kind of merchandise. It was from this port, 
two hundred and eighty years ago, three vessels sailed 
out, with a few score men and women, into an eternity of 
fame. In Rotterdam the persecuted Puritans of Engand 
had found a temporary home and refuge. In a rude con- 
venticle, down some of these back streets, their hearts had 
been fired with new zeal by the burning words of their pas- 
tor, John Robinson. Yearning for a land that they could 
call their own, and where they might have " freedom to 
worship God," these Pilgrims set sail across two oceans 
to a new world. An American, whether he will or no, 
must feel something of interest in a city that for so long 
a time, and in the hour of greatest need, gave greeting 
and shelter to the Pilgrim Fathers. In the great market 
square, with the open Bible in his hand, stands the statue 
of one whose name has given the city of his birth a place 
in literature. Erasmus of Rotterdam was one of the 
most elegant and scholarly men of his time. His influ- 
ence in the earlier days of the Reformation was almost 
boundless. To this hour, while we may justly condemn 
the weakness which made him waver and vacillate to the 
last, his power to move and fascinate has not departed. 

After a fjw hours in Rotterdam I went on to Dort, a 
famous city in both the civil and religious history of Hol- 
land. It was the birth-place of the republic. It was the 
battle-ground where Calvinists and Arminians fought 
their fiercest conflict. The Synod of Dort is one of the 



2/6 Saunterings in Europe. 

most noted of all religious assemblages. The eyes of 
the Protestant world watched its deliberations with in- 
tensest interest. England and Scotland, as well as many 
of the dukedoms and kingdoms of the continent, sent 
their representatives. I tried to imagine, as I walked 
through the old unchanged streets, what the appearance 
of the city must have been in those six months of the 
years 1618- 19, when the Synod was in session. What 
curious crowds must have gathered to watch the party 
leaders as they came out of the hall, their faces glowing 
with the smiles of victory, or the stern scowl of defeat. 
Now the way is cleared ; dragoons with glittering armor 
and clanking sabres ride swiftly forward and drive back 
the people, that a path may be opened for the state 
coach of some royal representative. Hear, as he passes, 
the cheers of the people, who have recovered from their 
fright at so much gorgeousness ! The town is quiet 
enough now. Calvinist and Arminian sleep peacefully 
together under the tall trees in the churchyard by the 
river. A deep calm, perhaps never again to be broken 
by a war of words, has settled down upon Dort. 

With a sensation almost like that of returning home, 
I saw, early the next morning, the coast of England. 
Landing in Liverpool from New York, we look upon 
the English almost as foreigners ; landing in Sheerness 
from Flushing, the people seem almost like old-time 
friends. As we whirled along in one of the swift En- 
glish trains through Chatham and Rochester, by stately 
old houses and broad, well-kept fields, I could not won- 
der that Englishmen love England and think there is 
no spot in all the world so beautiful as their island home. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

LONDON AGAIN. 

A Lordly City — English Hotels — Letters of Intj'oduction — 
An English Dinner — Hyde Park — Lights and Shadows. 

PARIS, Vienna, Berlin, and New York, combined, 
would make a city about as large as the English 
capital. There are more people in London than in all 
Scotland, or the whole kingdom of Saxony. Plunging 
in at any point, you find yourself in a bewildering maze 
of streets, and tall, smoke-begrimed houses. A feeling 
of isolation, of loneliness, such as you have never before 
known, seizes you ; you are overwhelmed with a sense 
of your individual nothingness. There is no outdoor 
life here, as on the Continent ; no open-air restaurants 
or music gardens, where every one goes, and where the 
payment of a small coin admits you into almost the only 
home the people know anything about. If you have 
no house in London, and no right to enter the sacred 
precincts of a club, no matter how much money you 
may have in your pocket, the chances are that for the 
first few days, at least, you will feel like an outcast. A 
family of Am.ericans, who had spent the winter very 
pleasantly at Dresden, came over here this spring, and 
in twenty-four hours were in all the agonies of home- 

(277) 



i^jZ Saunterings in Europe. 

sickness, ready either to go on to America, or back to 
Germany. 

Beside this enormous cold-shoulder, which a stranger 
imagines Is perpetually being given him, there is also a 
sense, almost like that of personal injury, that there is so 
much to be seen. How can they expect us to do all this ? 
< is the somewhat illogical and undirected question which 
you throw out at no one In particular. On half a sheet 
of note-paper, in any other city, you can make a list of 
the things that you really care very much to see ; but 
here, after writing over a score or more, you give up in 
despair. Other cities are satisfied with one or two gal- 
leries at the most, but London has half a dozen that 
ought to be visited. After you have been to the Tower, 
and St. Paul's, and Westminster Abbey, and the British 
and South Kensington Museums, and the House of Par- 
liament, and Hyde Park Corner — and any of these, except 
the last, rightly seen, would be a liberal education — you 
have only done a few of the biggest " lions " ; there are 
whole droves of littler ones roaring for their turn. 

While you have been doing this much, and getting 
somewhat acquainted with the city, and used to holding 
your umbrella up half the time, and seeing every now 
and then a black spot lighting on your nose, a large bill 
has been rolhng itself up against you at the hotel. You 
* are never charged, as in our American hotels, for meals 
that you have not eaten, but they make it up on those 
you have. One dinner at a first-class hotel, of anything 
like the variety usual at the Fifth Avenue or the Wind- 
sor, would bankrupt the average tourist. You are told 
that lodgings are just as pleasant, and much cheaper. 



London Again. 279 

So you set apart a morning to find what you want. 
You start out thinking of Berlin, and Dresden, and per- 
fectly confident of success in an hour or two. At the 
end of that time your state of mind has undergone some 
alterations. You think more of Berlin and Dresden 
than when you started. You wonder how clerks and 
professional men with small incomes arc ever able to 
live here at all. You debate with yourself the question 
of taking a house in the country, and coming into town 
every day, as being perhaps the cheapest in the end. 
You are quite ready to generalize, and say that in Lon- 
don everything clean is very dear, and everything cheap 
is very dirty. The sun is pushing its way through the 
clouds on the western horizon, as you find what you 
want, or make up your mind to want what you have 
found ; the hotel bill is paid with inward groanings ; the 
servants, for whom you have already been well charged, 
are feed, as the custom is, and you move into your lodg- 
ings. 

You send out now some letters of introduction, which 
friends in America have been so kind as to give you. 
You wonder if there can be power enough in these 
to open the black doors of any of those tall houses. 
Almost immediately you find, to your amazement, 
that there is no man more approachable by ordained 
and prescribed methods, than the Englishman. Li- 
stead of the cold-shoulder you had imagined every- 
where, you see cordial faces and hearty hands. Men 
upon whom you had no claim, except a few lines of rec- 
ommendation — men, some of them standing so high in 
the Church, or State, or literature, or science, that you 



28o Saunterings in Europe. 

were almost afraid to look up to where they were — ask 
in the most cordial way, " Is there anything we can do 
for you ? Would you like to go here, or to see that ? 
Shall we give you letters of introduction to our friends 
So-and-so? " They invite you, perhaps, to dine — an in- 
vitation you are only too glad to accept. The hour 
mentioned — eight o'clock — has to your ears a most dys- 
peptic sound ; but you determine to forget for once all 
the horrible things you have ever heard about the dan- 
gers of late dinners. Before you have had time to ring 
the bell, a lackey in knee-breeches and powdered hair 
opens the door, relieves you of hat, overcoat, and um- 
brella, and asks your name, which he shouts out to other 
lackeys in knee-breeches and powdered hair, on the stairs, 
who pass it along till it reaches the lady of the house, 
awaiting her guests in the drawing-room above. If you 
are among the first to appear, you will probably be told 
whom you may expect to meet, and the name of the 
lady whom you are to have the pleasure of taking down 
to dinner. At about half-past eight your host offers his 
arm to the lady of highest rank, and the rest foUov/ in 
the order of their worth, according to the standards of 
society. 

The dinner differs in no way particularly from a very 
elaborate affair of the same kind in America. The con- 
versation does not often become general ; so that your 
enjoyment of the two hours before you, will depend very 
largely upon the intelligence of the ladies between whom 
you sit. After the different courses have received a 
proper amount of attention, the hostess rises, the ladies 
follow her example, and pass out ; while the gentlemen 



London Again. 281 

remain standing, and attempt to assume an expression 
of melancholy appropriate to the occasion, till the last 
long trail has disappeared, when the host takes his seat 
at the other end of the table from that which he occu- 
pied during the dinner. The other gentlemen gather 
around him, the glasses are filled with sheriy or port, 
with perhaps one or two exceptions in favor of total 
abstinence men. The ball of conversation is again started. 
You may now, perhaps, find your poor, untitled republican 
self between a baron on one side, and a baronet on the 
other, with an earl and a bishop opposite. Quite to your 
surprise, it may be, these aristocrats do not go over their 
pedigree for your enlightenment, or recount in your 
wondering ears the story of their ancestors* prowess, 
though some of their forefathers were very probably his- 
torical characters. You find them very ready to discuss 
with you, and to give you at the same time a great deal 
of information concerning almost any of the political, or 
commercial, or moral problems of the day. 

Not very much wine is used — far less than was the 
custom twenty-five years ago. Neither is anything said 
which might not have been, with perfect propriety, be- 
fore the departure of the ladies. A half hour passes 
very quickly, but long before it is gone you are probably 
ready to acknowledge that in spite of titles " a man's a 
man for a' that." Coffee is brought in, perhaps also 
cigarettes, and then the gentlemen join the ladies in the 
drawing-room. They have had tea in the meantime, and 
as it is now eleven o'clock the guests very soon begin to 
take leave. You walk or ride home in a '^ hansom," 
fully persuaded that though a late English dinner may 



282 Saunterings in Europe. 

be dangerous, it is also a great intellectual and gastro- 
nomic delight. 

As you have so often been told that Hyde Park, from 
five to seven in the afternoon, is one of the sights that 
ought not to be missed, you walk there some day, or 
perhaps you are fortunate enough to be invited by some 
friend to ride. Your carriage, after some difificulty, finds 
a place in the long line, which sometimes moves very 
slowly, and sometimes not at all. No cab of any kind is 
allowed in this part of the Park. So that all these hun- 
dreds — even thousands — are, with few exceptions, pri- 
vate equipages. Many of them are magnificent. High- 
spirited horses, with gold-mounted harness ; coachman 
and footman in knee-breeches and brilliant livery, and 
curled wigs or powdered hair ; luxurious barouches, 
swung on leather springs, with coronets on the panels ; 
heavy drags drawn by four horses — all combine to make 
up a mass of gorgeousness such as can be seen nowhere 
else in the world. For two hours this stately procession 
moves on in quadruple rows, returning always to the 
same point, only to begin the circle again. Many of 
these carriages, I am told, may be found here almost 
any afternoon during the entire season. 

Late in the evening, while the West End is still at 
dinner, you walk through Charing Cross and along the 
Strand. The crowd is almost as great as in Hyde Park 
in the afternoon. But it is a very different crowd. It 
is made up very largely of those who never ride in car- 
riages. Many of them have not money enough in their 
pockets for a cab-fare. Not a few have just spent their 
last penny at the theatre or in a saloon. It is a sight 



London Again. 283 

that awakens pity. You push your way along toward 
Temple Bar, and find not only the Strand itself, but the 
side streets filled. The crowd is as great as further up 
the Strand, but much more poorly dressed, and much 
more drunken. You see more intoxicated men and 
women here in half an hour, than in Germany during a 
whole winter. It is a sight that awakens wonder and 
horror. If you should go on into the houses reeking 
with foul vapors, and steam from washtubs, where these 
people live, you might see that which would make you 
sick in body and soul. 

But there is another, and far more attractive, side of 
London. You have visited already, as a sight-seer, a 
number of the famous churches, and now you visit 
others as a listener. You find amid all the fashion and 
vice of London a leaven of zeal, and love, and self-denial. 
Few, if any, cities have a larger number of churches in 
proportion to the population. Nowhere, unless it be in 
some New England towns, are the churches better at- 
tended. Some of these great organizations are unrival- 
led for the variety and efficiency of their work. There 
are pulpits here filled by such mighty men of valor as 
Spurgeon, and Dean Stanley, and Farrar, and Liddon, 
and Parker, and Dykes, and Frazer, and a host of others, 
less famous, but perhaps almost as eloquent. 

Night after night, in the month of May, you may see 
Exeter Hall crowded with the supporters and friends of 
some one of the many humanitarian and Christian so- 
cieties of London. You can scarcely squeeze yourself 
into the hall of the Mildmay Conference, in the north- 
ern part of the city (it was there Mr. Moody began his 



284 Saunterings in Europe. 

work), while the annual meetings are being held in 
June. 

London is great in everything — in size, in wealth and 
in poverty, in wickedness and in goodness. It is a city 
of terrible contrasts. The most momentous problems 
of our modern civilization are here continually thrusting 
themselves before you, demanding some kind of an 
answer with fierce vehemence. It needs only a few 
weeks in London to make you think, if you never have 
before, of the relation between capital and labor, the 
rich and the poor, the Church and the people. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

THREE MEETINGS WITH DEAN STANLEY. 

A Secluded Home — Creeds and Confessions — Miracles — 
Through the Abbey -with the Dean — A French Mission 
Service — People who had 7iever heard of Westminster 
Abbey. 

VERY soon after reaching London, that most lonely 
of all cities to the friendless stranger, I sent Dean 
Stanley a letter of introduction, enclosing with it a note 
asking when I might conveniently call. The same after- 
noon I received the following, written evidently by the 
Dean's own hand, for no one has ever been able to read 
it who did not know before the attempt, about what it 
ought to be : 

** Deanery, Westminster, May 6, '79. 
^^ Dear Sir: — To-morrow, between 11 and i r.M., I 
will be glad to see you. Yours truly, 

"A. P. Stanley." 

The clock in the tall tower of Parliament House was 
just at the hour of noon as I entered a gateway, perhaps 
a hundred yards north of the Abbey, and found my- 
self in a quadrangle, surrounded on three sides by 
pleasant homelike houses. This court is called Dean's 

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286 Saunterings in Europe. 

yard, and these quiet secluded homes are occupied 
by the Canons, among them Dr. Farrar and the other 
officials of the Abbey. Turning to the left I walk- 
ed under an archway of crumbling stone, and there be- 
fore me, carefully hidden away seemingly from the rude 
gaze and noises of the world, was the Deanery, the home 
of England's most renowned Dean. A servant in livery 
showed me up an oaken staircase to the Dean's study. 
It was a delightful room, with a literary atmosphere 
about it, such as one finds only in the shadow of the En- 
glish universities, or cathedrals, or abbeys. Books on 
oaken shelves, as I remember it, covered the walls al- 
most from floor to ceiling. Tables and writing-desks of 
all sorts, except modern, strewn with open books, and 
half-written sheets of foolscap, made it impossible to cross 
the room in a straight line in any direction. 

The Dean was standing in front of an open fire, reading 
a book, which he tossed aside as I entered, and came for- 
ward and shook hands with such a sweet, gentle smile of 
welcome, that no one but the Fenian who was capable 
of writing threatening letters to him during his last ill- 
ness, could have resisted its charm. A small man, scarce- 
ly taller than the great Napoleon, with the purest of in- 
tellectual faces, lighted unmistakably with other than 
earth-born hopes, a "keepsake" face, as a Russian no- 
bleman, ignorant of English, once not inappropriately 
called that type ; " an old man," some would have said, 
and his hair was white, and there were wrinkles that 
spoke of age ; but to me there was something in his 
manner and thought that seemed to savor of perpetual 
youth. I would, I am sure, have felt it incongruous if 



Three Meetings with Dean Stanley. 287 

any one that morning had called him " old." He was not 
dressed as English Deans usually are — with short silk 
apron, knee-breeches and silk stockings— but more sim- 
ple, in the conventional English clerical dress ; and even 
that, I am inclined to think, was more priestly than he 
would have chosen for himself, if there had been no 
'' proprieties " to think of. 

I was on my way to the Scotch General Assembly, 
where, as it was thought, some effort would be made 
to revise the Westminster Confession. " I am opposed 
to any change," said the Dean, much to my surprise, 
knowing his intensely Broad Church sympathies ; " the 
time has not yet come for making new Confessions, but 
I would make the subscription to it more liberal." As 
he spoke, I remembered it was on that basis that the 
Broad Church party had always worked : they have never 
tried to change Creeds or Confessions. " Let them stand 
as they are," has been the tenor of their cry ; '' they are 
all interesting theological curios, only give us the liberty 
to believe them or not as we choose." We spoke of the 
proofs for miracles, and the Dean said, " We must take 
each one on its own merits ; it is impossible to cover 
them all with any general argument." All through the 
conversation he left upon my mind the same impression 
that I had already received from his sermons and eccle- 
siastical writings. A beautiful character, a great nature, 
with all its windows open, but not as much as one could 
wish of strong, positive faith. An English rector — a 
schoolmate and personal friend of Dean Stanley's, now 
himself the Dean of one of the most beautiful of the 
cathedrals — said to me, " No one but Lady Augusta — 



288 Saunterings in Europe. 

Dean Stanley's noble wife — ever knew exactly what the 
Dean believes, and it is somewhat doubtful if she did." 
This can not be said of all the Broad Church party, for 
Canon Farrar belongs rather to that wing than to any 
other of the English Church ; but not Spurgeon himself 
believes more implicitly in the deity of our Lord, or 
preaches it more plainly. 

While we were talking, a servant came in and handed 
the Dean a letter, saying, as if he felt unworthy to take 
such words upon his lips, " From Her Majesty the 
Queen." " Just wait a moment," the Dean said to me, 
and tearing open the royal letter, he glanced it over 
hastily, and caught up a pen and dashed off an answer, 
of whose meaning I was sure Her Majesty would die 
ignorant unless she happened to have a very skilful pri- 
vate secretary. He went on talking in a moment with 
the greatest unconcern, as if he were in the habit, as he 
was, of receiving such tokens of royal favor. 

As I was leaving, the Dean asked me if I would not 
like a ticket for the services of the next day in the 
Abbey, when Dr. Lightfoot was to be consecrated 
Bishop of Durham. Of course I accepted his kind offer 
very gladly, and went out of the Deanery feeling that if 
the Dean did not perhaps believe in all the Christian doc- 
trines, it would be impossible for the most orthodox to 
deny that he possessed most of the Christian virtues. 

My next meeting with the Dean was due to the kind- 
ness of the Rev. Newman Hall. Among other organi- 
zations in his great church, there is a Workingmen's 
Society made up almost entirely of mechanics, and the 
Dean, a personal friend of Newman Hall, had invited 



Three Meetings with Dean Stanley. 289 

the famous Nonconformist to bring over the members 
of this society to the Abbey some afternoon, and he 
would show them through, explaining, as he loved to 
do, and as only he could, the treasures — ecclesiastical, 
historical, and antiquarian — of that venerable pile. Mr. 
Hall very kindly wrote me to join them. The Dean 
met us near the door of the Deanery — we numbered, I 
should think, about one hundred — and took us at once to 
the cloisters of the Abbey, pointing out many interest- 
ing little things that we never would have seen without 
his help. We went first into a long, low, vaulted, pil- 
lared chamber, which, the Dean explained to us, is all 
that remains of the church built by Edward the Confes- 
sor nearly eight hundred years ago. We grouped our- 
selves around the Dean, who stood on a stone step at 
one side of the room, a little, round silk skull-cap on his 
head, and his soft bright eyes twinkling with pleasure, 
as he told us in his charming way about King Edward, 
and his connection with the Abbey. 

Then we strolled on into the Chapter-house, and here 
again the Dean took a step for a coign of vantage, and 
began, '' This is the birthplace of constitutional liberty " ; 
and then as his eye happened to fall on me, as I stood 
near him, he added, '' Even our young republican friend 
must acknowledge that " — at which they all laughed, and 
I felt for the moment like a veritable rebel — " for here," 
continued the Dean, " long before Westminster Hall 
was built, the Commons met and agitated for their 
rights and ours." So he talked on in the most delight- 
ful way for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes about 
government, and law, and liberty. 
13 



290 Saunterings in Europe. 

Then we went into the Abbey, into the exquisitely 
beautiful chapel of Henry VII. Here he drew our at- 
tention to the tomb of Elizabeth, the proudest of all 
queens ; and then, only a little way off, to that of her 
victim, some would say — her would-be betrayer, others 
would call her — the beautiful. Mary of Scotland. "You 
see," said the Dean, " that this Abbey is what Lord 
Macaulay so well named it — ' the great temple of silence 
and reconciliation.' " We went on through the chapel, 
under its high, vaulted roof, richly carved, and black with 
age, and hung with battle-stained flags, to a tomb at the 
other end covered with flowers. To this the Dean led 
me, and said — and there were tears in his voice, and I 
knew that his heart was buried under that marble slab — 
" This is where my dear wife lies." Ah me, the hand 
that was laid on my arm that day is cold, and still, and 
the voice that spoke so gently, is hushed forever, and 
there, by the side of his beloved v/ife, amid the royal 
tombs of kings and queens, all that was mortal of Arthur 
Penrhyn Stanley awaits the resurrection. 

I was exceedingly sorry that I could not visit the other 
portions of the Abbey under such guidance, but I had 
made another engagement for the latter part of the after- 
noon before Mr. Hall's letter was received, so that I was 
obliged to depart, v^^ith the unpleasant consciousness that 
I was leaving the feast before it was half finished. 

Six months after those delightful hours spent in the 
Abbey, I met the Dean in Paris. He was returning 
from a short Italian tour. He was in excellent spirits, 
and while speaking of Italy, mentioned incidentally, as 
he often did in the last three years of his life, how great- 



Three Meetings with Dean Stanley. 291 

ly he had enjoyed his visit to America. The mission of 
Mr. McAll, the Scotch pastor to the workingmen of 
Paris, happening to be mentioned, the Dean said that 
he had often heard it most favorably spoken of, and 
would be glad to see one of the meetings. So it was 
arranged that I should accompany him the next even- 
ing to the service which was to be held in a hall near 
the Tour St. Jacques. Mr. McAll, on hearing of the 
Dean's intended visit, sent him a note asking him if pos- 
sible to address the meeting ; and as we drove through 
the Rue de Rivoli toward the hall, the Dean mentioned 
this invitation, but said he could not decide whether he 
would speak or not, till he saw the audience. Then he 
asked me a great many questions about Mr. McAll's 
work, what his methods were, and what class of people 
were being reached. He seemed to fear that the audi- 
ences were largely made up of the same sort of people 
that in England or America are ordinarily attracted to 
meetings of that kind — lapsed members of Protestant 
churches, religious tramps, running wherever there seems 
a chance of getting something without paying for it in 
any way. If of this sort, he did not wish to speak ; but 
if they were Romanists, attracted by a simpler and purer 
form of Vv'orship, or indifferentists, who had lost all in- 
terest in religious questions, he would be glad to address 
them. From what I had seen I felt convinced that the 
numbers who attended Mr. McAll's meetings came prin- 
cipally from the last two classes, that there were not 
enough lapsed Protestants in Paris to fill the twenty- 
three mission halls, open almost every night. So I told 
the Dean, and he seemed half, but only half, persuaded. 



292 Saunterings in Europe. 

Mr. McAU met us at the door, gave the Dean a very 
cordial welcome, and took him forward to the platform. 
The hall — it would hold about two hundred, I should 
think — was full. At a glance it was easy to see that 
they v/ere nearly all oiivriers ; almost every man there 
wore the blouse, a sort of combined jacket and shirt of 
coarse, blue cloth ; nothing more entirely different from 
the lapsed Protestant, or religious tramp of England or 
America could be imagined. I was confident the Dean 
would speak. The interpreter was present, so that if he 
felt nervous about his French, he might fall back on his 
mother tongue. Mr. McAll read a short address in 
French. Mr. Hamlin, a worthy son of Dr. Hamlin, of 
Constantinople, gave an address in the same language, 
without notes. Mr. McAll and the Dean were whisper- 
ing together, and I was sure he was about to rise, but a 
prayer was offered, a hymn sung, and the meeting closed. 
On our way home the Dean said : *' I couldn't make up 
my mind about the audience, and then beside, they 
probably never had heard of Westminster Abbey, and I 
thought it best not to speak, though what I have seen has 
impressed me most favorably with Mr. McAll's work." 

This was the last time I ever saw him. Only two 
years more of life were before him. Almost the first 
news I heard on landing at San Francisco was, " Dean 
Stanley is dead." He was indubitably the most famous 
of English deans. He was better known, more tenderly 
loved, and more bitterly hated than any of his compeers. 
We must regret the negative bias of his thought, but he 
was unmistakably one of Lessing's seekers after truth ; 
one of those pure, and elevated, spirits whose taking 
away makes the whole world poorer. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

THOMAS HUGHES, Q.C. 

A Friend of America — The Author of " Tom Broiviis 
School Days " — The Story of his Life. 

WITH the exception, perhaps, of John Bright, 
Thomas Hughes has probably been, for the last 
twenty years, the most persistent, unwavering, and influ- 
ential friend that the United States have had in Great 
Britain. Able to speak from personal observation of our 
social and public life, and from a thorough and sympa- 
thetic famiharity with our literature, he has never per- 
mitted an opportunity to pass of throwing what light 
was possible into the dense and astounding ignorance of 
many of his countrymen concerning America and Ameri- 
can institutions. 

I recall with particular pleasure a certain occasion, 
when he rescued me from what was on the point of be- 
coming an ignominious defeat. It was at dinner in his 
own house in London. He was prevented, by some en- 
gagement, from being at the table the first part of the 
evening, and I was thus thrown upon the not too tender 
mercies of a number of brilliant young Englishmen. As 
any one could have predicted, before the second course 

(293) 



294 Saunterings in Europe. 

was commenced a running fire was begun all around the 
table, concerning the ''greatest republic on earth," and 
I, as the only American present, received so many shots 
that one after one my guns were gradually silenced, 
and I was in danger of being completely wrecked, when 
Mr. Hughes returned. I instantly resigned to him, with 
no small satisfaction, my position in the brunt of the 
battle, and giving myself up to the charm of Mrs. 
Hughes' conversation, I watched, as a delighted specta- 
tor, while he fired a tremendous broadside that left two 
or three of the enemy little better than mere hulks. His 
enthusiasm, not to speak of his information, was so much 
greater than mine, that I had no need to say anything 
after he came in. I left everything entirely to him, ex- 
cept the glory of the victory, which we divided equally. 
If Mr. Hughes is not known everywhere in America 
as the friend of our republic, he is universally recognized 
as the friend of all our school-boys. Next to " Robinson 
Crusoe," every sensible American youth reads '' Tom 
Brown's School Days," and where in all literature is 
there a sweeter, manlier book of its kind ? It has pushed 
-its way, as it deserved to, not only into the American 
school, but, in spite of all linguistic difficulties, into the 
German university as well. Something more than a year 
ago, while taking some lectures in the University of Ber- 
lin, I went one day, out of curiosity, into what they call 
^^ Ein E7iglischcs Seminar r A handsome young fellow, 
unmistakably English, took his place at the lecturer's 
desk, and said in English, '' We will begin, if you please." 
Some one very kindly handed me a text-book, and as I 
opened it, I found to my surprise that these German stu- 



Thomas Hughes, Q.C. 295 

dents were translating from the English " Tom Brown's 
School Days." I went in often after that, as the exer- 
cise was most excellent for any one who wished to learn 
either German or English, and it was exceedingly inter- 
esting to see these embryo philosophers — as all German 
students are — getting moist in the eyes over some of 
the passages of irresistible pathos, and as thoroughly de- 
lighted as any English or American boy could be, when 
Tom Brown thrashes the big bully who had nagged lit- 
tle Arthur. 

English-speaking people probably associate Rugby 
about equally with the name of Dr. Arnold, the most 
famous of teachers, and Tom Brown, the most famous 
of school-boys. To this day too, in Oxford, the young 
lad who came up from the smaller world of Rugby, to 
work his way along for four years in the great university, 
is as much a hero, as when Mr. Hughes first introduced 
him to the reading public. Tom is one of the few cele- 
brated characters who has been properly honored in his 
own country, and even in his own university town. 
Much as the story of his college life is read in Harvard, 
and Yale, and Princeton, I should judge from what I 
saw, that Oxford men themselves find it equally fasci- 
nating. Mr. Hughes was once asked why he had never 
written " Tom Brown at London," as a sequel to " Tom 
Brown at Oxford," that the multitudes who had become 
interested in the fate of the young collegian might fol- 
low him into the fiercer struggles of professional or 
political life. He answered, with a smile that seemed to 
suggest more than his words, " Oh, the difficulties were 
too great " ; but in spite of Mr. Hughes' repeated denials 



296 Saunterings in Europe. 

and with entire confidence in his sincerity, we shall con- 
tinue to believe, like the rest of the world, that it is not 
at all difficult, but, on the contrary, very easy to follow 
Tom Brown from Oxford to London, and that to read 
the story of his life in the metropolis is one of the sim- 
plest things imaginable. 

Tom studied law ; ate good dinners, as English law- 
yers must, with an excellent appetite, in the magnificent 
oak-roofed hall of the Temple ; attended Church regu- 
larly in the Temple itself, that quaintest of all the En- 
glish churches ; married soon, the daughter of a well- 
known canon ; became later a Bencher, with the privi- 
lege, among others, of giving to his friends tickets of 
admission to the Temple service ; used that prerogative 
time and time again for wandering Americans, upon 
whom he took pity ; was elected later to Parliament, to 
an Englishman the highest honor this side of heaven ; 
spoke not so often as some of the other members, but 
whenever he did, he had something to say ; became so 
widely known as a man of great common-sense, and 
trustworthy judgment, that he was asked by the Queen 
to be one of her special counsellors ; after that, as 
was right and proper, his friends always added to his 
name, when they wrote it, the mystic letters " Q. C." 

He developed an unexpected literary talent ; articles 
from his pen began to appear in the leading magazines ; 
then he conceived the purpose of writing something 
that might be helpful to English boys, trying to become 
manly Englishmen. So he sat down, wrote out his own 
experiences at Rugby and Oxford, and the world read 
the books, and laughed, and cried over them, and declared 



Thomas Hughes, Q.C. 297 

that Tom was a genius, and that no such stones as these 
had ever before been written. It is true, that in his 
preface to the last, he declared all attempts to recognise 
actual personages in the hero, or any of the other char- 
acters, would always be futile, but his English read- 
ers only smiled, and said, '^ You are too modest to ac- 
knowledge, if it were true, that these are autobiogra- 
phies, and perhaps they were never intended to be ; but 
we shall go on believing, just the same, that ' Tom 
Brown ' is a reality, that he was too noble, and manly^ 
and lovable, to be a mere creature of the imagination. 
For us, you are he henceforth, and always." 

Every year added something to Tom's fame and took 
away nothing from the beauty and unaffected simplicity 
of his character. Other books appeared bearing his now 
celebrated name. He seemed equally at home in his- 
torical, political, social, or ecclesiastical subjects. He 
was a Liberal in politics, though always a loyal church- 
man. Some of his ritualistic friends thoue[-ht him little 
better than a Presbyterian, and some of his gay aristo- 
cratic acquaintances considered him almost a Puritan. 
But his enemies (though I doubt if he ever had any ex- 
cept political) were forced to confess that somehow this 
man had succeeded in the nineteenth century, and in 
the '' best society " in London, in reproducing in his life 
an unmistakable resemblance to that of a wondrously 
pure, and gentle, and manly Teacher, who gathered a 
few disciples in Palestine some eighteen hundred years 
ago. No one laughed sarcastically, or cried ''cant," 
" cant," when he spoke, as he sometimes did, about the 
duty of personal loyalty to this Teacher. It seemed a 
13'' 



298 Saunterings in Europe. 

most natural and appropriate thing that when invited to 
deliver a series of Sunday evening addresses in London, 
he should choose as his subject, '' The Manliness of 
Christ/' 

These years have not passed by without leaving their 
trace upon him. He is as tall, and straight, as when he 
used to swing an oar, or bat at Oxford, but his hair is 
gray, and so are his close-cut whiskers, that half encircle 
a face that no child could see without loving. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

TWO ENGLISH TOWNS. 

Canferbury and Windsor — The Shrine of Sf. Thomas — 
An Old Roma)i Church — Thomas h Bccket — Hampton 
Court — Woolseys Palace — The Meadows of Runny ' 
viede — The Queen's Home. 

FROM the Tabard Inn at Southwark, Chaucer's pil- 
grims began their journey to the shrine of Thomas 
a Becket. As this oldest of the English poets himself ex- 
presses it : 

" And specially from every shire's end 
Of Engle land, to Canterbury they wende." 

In Chaucer's time, and long before it, Canterbury was 
considered the most sacred spot in England. Not only 
the common people, but princes and kings went there to 
pray, and do penance. The holy shrine of St. Thomas 
was torn down centuries ago, but the cathedral, rich in 
architectural beauty, rich in historical associations, still 
remains and draws to Canterbury as many, if not as de- 
vout, pilgrims as in Chaucer's day. It is impossible to 
tell when this edifice was erected. It has grown up by 
a process of accretion, not unlike that by which the 
service celebrated within its walls has been formed. 

One of the first, if not the first Christian church built 

(299) 



300 Saunterings in Europe. 

in England was on this spot. Less than a hundred 
years after Paul was beheaded at Rome, the Gospel for 
which he died, was preached here. When Augustine, 
with his forty monks, landed on the Island of Thanet in 
5g6, and proceeded in a slow and solemn procession to 
Canterbury, he found two churches there, monuments of 
a faith which war, and the persecution of heathen tribes 
had nearly destroyed. One of these buildings is still 
standing. It is called St. Martin's. The red Roman 
bricks in the walls attest its great age. The other 
church, by far the larger of the two, which stood where 
the Cathedral now is, was burned down by the Danes a 
few hundred years later. About the time of the Nor- 
man Conquest, a new building had been raised, part of 
which was so skilfully carved, and magnificently adorned 
with pictures, and ornaments, that it became known as 
"the glorious choir of Conrad." But the Cathedral 
owes much of its immortality of fame to its baptism 
with the blood of Saint Thomas. 

In the reign of Henry II., about the middle of the 
twelfth century, the son of a London merchant named 
Becket became a great favorite at court. It was the 
Saracen mother of this Thomas, so the story runs, who 
came all the way from Palestine in quest of her English 
lover, with but two words on her lips—'' London," " Gil- 
bert." Thomas received, in quick succession, all the 
honors of the court. His retinue was so magnificent as 
to excite the wonder even of Paris, when he made his 
entry there as an English ambassador. Henry deter- 
mined to make this fighting, pleasure-loving chancellor, 
Archbishop of Canterbury. This v/as then, as it is now. 



Two English Towns. 301 

the highest office in the gift of the crown. With his favor- 
ite at the head of the Church, Henry thought he would 
have no further difficulty with priests and bishops. The 
gift was made. The new archbishop was consecrated, 
and from that moment became apparently, if not really, 
a new man. The pomp and splendor he had once loved 
disappeared. He tore off his silk robes, and clothed 
himself in garments both coarse and filthy. But his 
pride was not lessened ; it had rather grown to most 
prodigious dimensions. He asserted rights which had 
never existed, or had long been in abeyance. The king 
was at first surprised, then maddened at the part his 
old favorite had chosen to play. If he could not bend 
this proud prelate, he would break him ! But the thing 
was not so easily done. The archbishop defied the king 
at every point. At last, four knights resolved that the 
king should no longer be troubled by this priest. They 
went down to Canterbury, threatened the archbishop in 
his palace, and when they found that words were power- 
less, they surrounded him in the cathedral, as he was en- 
tering the choir for evening worship, and struck at him 
with their swords till he lay dead at their feet. All 
Christendom was horrified at the bloody deed. The 
murdered archbishop was canonized, and became St. 
Thomas. For four hundred years, till Henry VHI. and 
the Protestant Reformation, prayers were offered to 
him, and jewels of untold value were brought to his 
shrine. A peculiar stone in the pavement marks still 
the spot on which he fell. You can stand there and 
look up at the painted window on which some skilful 
artist has told the storv of his life and death. 



302 Saunterings in Europe. 

There are other monuments here, scarcely less inter- 
esting than that of Thomas a Becket. Edward, the 
Black Prince, whose name became such a terror to the 
armies of France in the fourteenth century, lies here in 
the Chapel of the Holy Trinity, under a brazen figure of 
himself in full armor. The chief instrument in Queen 
Mary's hand for the restoration of Roman Catholicism 
to England, is here entombed in a plain brick monu- 
ment, on which is the simple inscription, " The body of 
Cardinal Pole." An English king and queen, Henry IV. 
and Joan his wife, are also buried here. 

In the crypt of this Cathedral, a congregation of French 
Protestants, driven out of their native country by the 
fierce persecutions which ended in St. Bartholomew's day, 
found a refuge, and a place of worship. From that day 
to this, they and their descendants have been permitted 
by the Archbishop of Canterbury to hold their Presby- 
terian service in the room allotted to them. This great 
Cathedral thus became a not unfitting symbol of the 
ideal church, in which all followers of the Master are to 
live together in concord and love. 

There is enough of the old wall left around Canter- 
bury to give you, as you pass into the town, an impres- 
sion of great age. A few of the towers also remain, but 
all the gates, with one exception, have disappeared. A 
ruined castle recalls the days of the Norman conqueror, 
and his determined efforts to keep in subjection the peo- 
ple he had vanquished. 

We rode out one day with some Am.erican friends on 
the top of a four-in-hand coach to Windsor. This is said 
to be one of the prettiest drives in England. You roll 



Two English Towns. 303 

along through the fashionable West End, by miles of tall, 
fine houses, till the outskirts of the city are reached, and 
the Thames is crossed at Kew. Here you catch charm- 
ing glimpses of the gardens, among the most beautiful 
in the world, as, with a snap of the driver's whip and a 
blast of the guard's horn, the fresh horses just put into 
harness whirl you by. Sweeping through Richmond, and 
crossing the Thames again, you pass Strawberry Hill, 
where Walpole lived so long, and entertained at his table 
the most famous men of the day ; and then on through 
the long avenue of majestic trees, that give to Bushy 
Park in the early summer a beauty said to be unsurpassed 
in England. Here we are at Hampton Court, the famous 
palace built by the most famous of cardinals, Woolsey. 
It was one of the favorite residences of Cromwell, and of 
the Stuarts. William HI. spent a large part of his time 
here. But the walls are so high, and the trees so thick, 
that not very much of it is to be seen, even from the top 
of a coach. On we go, now along the banks of the 
Thames, and now between fair fields crowned with vil- 
las, or by acres of heather, where scores of rabbits are 
feeding and playing among the bushes. 

We change horses again. The guard's horn warns 
those ahead to clear the way, and we dash across the 
meadows of Runnymede, where King John, on the 15th 
of June, 1 2 14, met the Barons and a great crowd of En- 
glish yeomen, and signed the Magna Charta, though it 
almost broke his heart. We turn a corner, rush up a lit- 
tle hill, and there before us are the towers of Windsor 
Castle. 

A few minutes more and we are in the Great Park 



304 Saunterings in Europe. 

with its 1, 800 acres, and are crossing the Long Walk, 
formed by an avenue of elms three miles in length, run- 
ning from the massive gateway of George IV. to the 
equestrian statue of his father, George III., on Snow 
Hill. One long blast of the horn, and our four blooded 
horses are reined up before the door of the White Hart 
Inn, which was standing in Shakespeare's day, and 
which he immortalized in " Merry Wives of Windsor." 
Though the Queen was in Scotland, it was one of those 
days when the State apartments are not shown, so we 
were obliged to content ourselves with the outside of the 
castle. As far back as the days of Edward the Confessor, 
this estate was presented to the monks of Westminster. 
William the Conqueror purchased it from them, and 
built a small castle on the hill. Nearly all the English 
kings since William, who have had any spare time or 
money, have done something toward the enlargement 
and beautifying of the Royal Palace. The completion 
of the work — it was done by Queen Victoria — cost 
$4,500,000. 

We went into the Chapel of St. George, which is as 
old as the fifteenth century. The Queen's father is buried 
here, and a short distance away, in the Tomb House, lie 
the bodies of George III., George IV., and William IV. 
Here, too, many a royal marriage has taken place. The 
wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Connaught was 
solemnized in this chapel not long ago. We went 
also into the much more magnificent chapel, which 
is now being built to the memory of the Prince Consort. 
Human art seems to have exhausted itself on this little 
edifice. Anything more gorgeous than its walls, or ceil- 



Two English Towns. 305 

ing, or pavement, it would be difficult to imagine. The 
Queen's private terrace, which is considered very beauti- 
ful, impressed us as being very stiff and formal — perhaps 
''courtly" might be the word. We admired far more 
the wide view from the terrace over Windsor and Eton. 

As we were not allowed to enter any part of the castle, 
the time which we had expected to use in looking at 
rare and curious objects, we occupied in trying to recall 
the momentous historical events with which this castle 
has been connected. It was from Windsor, King John 
rode out to Runnymede. It was to some part of this 
palace he came back, after he had signed the charter, to 
curse and swear till courtiers and servants fled from the 
room in a panic of fright. From some of these windows, 
800 years ago, the Conqueror looked out over the land 
he had subdued, and perhaps, too, with something of sad- 
ness in those stern eyes, toward the fields of Normandy 
which he had left forever. In that tall, round tower, one 
of the vilest of kings and most despicable of men, James 
I. of Scotland, was imprisoned. Well would it have been 
for England, if he had never lived in any other part of 
the palace but that. It was here that Cromwell made 
his headquarters, after he had beheaded Charles I., the 
royal son of James. 

Not long after Cromwell's death, when Charles II. 
came back " to enjoy his own again," Windsor was often 
the scene of the royal orgies, and these old walls were 
made to echo with the loud laughter of the " mcrrie 
monarch." Except the Tower of London, there is no 
other building in Great Britain whose name is so woven 
into the warp and woof of English history. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE ISLE OF WIGHT, AND BRIGHTON. 

A Miniature England — Roads and Cliffs — The Wreck of 
the Eurydice — Brighton Hotels — A Famous Preacher. 

THE little Isle of Wight is a miniature England. 
Few of the beauties of the larger island are al- 
together wanting here. Some of them are intensified. 
The grass is greener, the foliage more luxuriant. There 
is more sunshine here, perhaps. Next to Scotland, this 
is the Queen's favorite place of residence. In two days 
of steady work, one may see superficially all the places 
of particular interest. Crossing from Portsmouth in the 
afternoon, before taking the train for Ventnor, we had a 
ghmpse of the harbor of Ryde, and the pretty villas on 
the hills behind the town. It was unfortunately scarcely 
more than a glimpse of Sandovvn, and Shanklin, with 
which we were obliged to content ourselves. 

Ventnor is probably more like our own Newport than 
any of the other English watering-places. Built on a suc- 
cession of terraces rising above the ocean, the views are 
everywhere beautiful. Broad roads, as smooth and hard 
as polished stone, wind through the town, and over the 

hills. A pretty walk runs along the cliff ; on one side 
(306) 



The Isle of Wight, and Brighton. 307 

charming villas and cottages, on the other the perpetual 
dash of the sea. Since poets like Wordsworth began to 
sing, a generation has arisen with a love for the beauti- 
ful in nature — sometimes real, sometimes assumed — 
from whose eager search a spot like Ventnor could not 
long remain concealed. Almost unknown a few de- 
cades ago to the English public, great hotels have 
been quickly erected, and as quickly filled. Pro- 
tected by high hills from the coldest winds, Vent- 
nor is almost as popular in winter as in summer. 
The crowd of health and pleasure seekers that had 
gathered on the piazzas of the hotels here one day last 
winter, witnessed a scene which will often again rise be- 
fore them in their dreams, and which filled England with 
horror and lamentation. A naval school-ship, the Etiry- 
dice, just returning from a long voyage, was passing 
Ventnor under full sail. Every heart on board was glad. 
The dangers and privations of the weary months were 
forgotten. Home was reached at last. A dark cloud 
which had been hovering over the hill-tops swept sud- 
denly down, and for a moment the ship was hidden in a 
flurry of wind and rain. It was only for an instant ; the 
sun broke through the clouds again, but the ship had 
vanished like a phantom. There was but one man saved 
to tell the story : how, when the squall struck the broad 
sails, the proud ship careened ; the port-holes, with 
wondrous carelessness, had been left open, and the ves- 
sel that had outridden a hundred storms went down in 
sight of the harbor. Calm as sky and ocean were when 
we looked out upon this scene, the horrible tragedy of 
the Ei-irydicc seemed again to be enacted before our eyes. 



3o8 Saunterings in Europe. 

A coach runs every morning from Ventnor to 
Freshwater, not for the amusement of two or three 
rich young men, hke those whose scarlet - coated 
guards awaken, with their long horns, the echoes 
around London, but as an absolute necessity, for at 
present the railroad ends at Ventnor. From the top 
of this coach the scenery is sufficiently varied to prevent 
the ride from becoming monotonous. The curves in the 
road, like the turning of a kaleidoscope, presented new 
combinations, if they did not introduce new features. We 
swept on through four or five little villages, stopping 
only long enough to change horses, and reached Fresh- 
water in time for the lunch which the guide-books say 
should be taken here, a suggestion which our own feel- 
ings prompted us to obey v/ithout question. There is 
an old town of Yarmouth, some four miles from Fresh- 
water, which we were unfortunately prevented from vis- 
iting, but which we were anxious to see, because of its 
connection with the house of Stuart. Charles II., the 
most versatile, the most beloved, the most dissolute of 
the Stuarts, landed here after his long exile on the Con- 
tinent, preparatory to his triumphal entry into London. 
At Carisbrooke Castle, a mile out of Newport, his father, 
called by some of the English who have more sentiment 
than sense, " Charles the blessed martyr," was im- 
prisoned, and tried to escape from a window, which is 
still associated with his name and attempted flight. We 
got down from the coach just before reaching Newport 
and walked up to the ruins of Carisbrooke. When and 
by whom this castle was built is uncertain, but it was 
long the home of the Norman Knight, William Fitz 



The Isle of Wight, and Brighton. 309 

Osborne, who ruled as a sort of monarch over the Httle 
kingdom. But the chief interest which attaches to it 
is so much more modern. Not only was Charles I. im- 
prisoned here, but his daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, 
to whom Queen Victoria has erected a monument in the 
Church of St. Thomas, at Newport, died in one of these 
little rooms some two years after her father's head had 
been struck off at Whitehall. That room is one of the 
very few which have withstood the almost complete 
desolation which has swept over this castle. 

There is nothing in Newport to make any lengthy stay 
there desirable, so that I was ready for the first train to 
Ryde, my starting-place of the previous day. Taking the 
last steamer from Ryde, the evening mail, in less than an 
hour I was in the hotel at Portsmouth. Besides its 
great docks and massive fortifications, one of the sights 
to be seen in this busy seaport is the hulk of an old ship 
lying in the harbor. It v/as on that now mouldering 
deck of the Victory the one-armed Nelson, the hero 
of Trafalgar, breathed out his life, in the very hour of 
triumph. Millais has immortalized the scene with his 
brush, on the walls of one of the rooms in the House 
of Commons. The writers of popular songs and the 
makers of popular engravings have so re-told the story, 
that it is almost as well known to every lad in England 
as Trafalgar Square, and the tall monument with the 
couching lions at the base, to all the boys who play 
around Charing Cross. 

Any one who has laughed and cried over the pages of 
" Nicholas Nickleby," will scarcely be able to walk 
through the streets of Portsmouth without recalling the 
triumphs and sorrows of Nicholas during the months he 



3IO Saunterings in Europe. 

spent here, as the popular dramatical writer, and actor in 
a third-class theatre. The only object of very great in- 
terest between Portsmouth and Brighton is the cathedral 
at Chichester. It is very beautiful, situated just outside 
the city, in a great square of greenest turf, with no high 
buildings to conceal or dwarf its proportions. It is one 
of those treasures with which mediaeval art has enriched 
England. If modern art does no more than to preserve 
the legacy unchanged, it will deserve the gratitude of 
posterity. 

Brighton is a combined Long Branch and Coney Isl- 
and. It has the aristocracy of the New Jersey water- 
ing-place, united with the democracy of the popular 
Long Island resort. But Brighton is also a city, and its 
streets are by no means deserted even when the lovers 
of fashion have taken their flight. The drive of more 
than three miles along the broad avenue by the ocean is, 
of its kind, unsurpassed. Great hotels, and briUiant shop- 
windows vie with the sea in attracting the attention of 
the crowds slowly passing on foot or in carriages. A 
peculiar structure, rising almost in the centre of this 
avenue, is the entrance to the most famous aquarium in 
Europe. The little domes and towers of a still more re- 
markable building can be seen from the avenue. George 
IV., while Prince of Wales, built this Pavilion, as it is 
called, in imitation, it is said, of the Kremlin at Moscow, 
but in what way a single house, even though crowned 
with many more excrescences than George IV.'s Pa- 
vilion, can be supposed to resemble a walled city — 
for such the Kremlin is— it would be difficult to im- 
agine. In the Pavilion occurred some of the most im- 
portant events of George IV.'s reign — so Grenville tells 



The Isle of Wight, and Brighton. 311 

us in his recollections of the time ; but if Thackeray's 
essay is a fair estimate of the king's character, the less 
said the better about what he did here, or anywhere else. 
It is only a few minutes' walk from the Pavilion to a little 
church, in which many Americans who have never even 
heard of George IV.'s palace have taken a very great in- 
terest. The building is plain enough for a Nonconform- 
ist chapel of the olden time, small enough for the lecture- 
room of one of our modern churches, but it was in this 
church that Frederick W. Robertson preached those ser- 
mons which may be found to-day in almost every clergy- 
man's library in the United States, and which, for in- 
tense sympathy with all who are struggling upward, for 
subtle analysis of complex motives, for delicacy and 
beauty of expression, have been placed by common con- 
sent among the gems of sermonic literature in the En- 
glish language. Though this church was always filled to 
the door when Robertson preached, yet his name was 
not well known even in England at the time of his death. 
Mr. Spurgeon says he had never heard of him, and many 
a clergyman in the Church of England might have said 
the same thing. The dash of the waves on the shore at 
Brighton was almost loud enough to drown that voice ; 
it was not till he spoke through the printing-press that 
the tones rose above all the noises and distractions of 
earth, and England and America were forced to listen to 
the message which had so long filled the great heart and 
brain of this holy man. Brighton every way to us means 
more than the fashionable watering-place ; more than the 
prosperous city — that name for us will always be linked 
with the memory of a man of genius, whose highest am- 
bition was to live a noble life, and to help his fellow-men. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

A DAY IN OXFORD. 

Alfred the Great and Oxford— The Foster Mother of He- 
roes — Dean Bradley — A ''■Bumping" Race— A Uni- 
versity Fellozu. 

ALFRED THE GREAT was long supposed to 
be founder of Oxford University. It would be 
pleasant to think that a king who did so many good 
things, did this also; but modern history, too scientific 
to be sentimental, forbids. No doubt Alfred lived at 
Oxford with his three sons ; but it was probably some 
decades after his death that the famous school came 
into existence. In Alfred's day, Oxford may have been 
dreary enough ; but in ours it is one of the most fasci- 
nating places in Europe. Whether your first view of the 
city is from the top of a stage-coach on the London 
road, or from the windows of a railway car, your atten- 
tion and admiration will be immediately won by the 
spires of the churches, the towers of the colleges, and 
the dome of the Library. It is perhaps an exaggeration 
to call High Street " the most beautiful in the world," 
but any expressions of praise less hearty and unqualified 
seem meagre, as you stand on the bridge over the Cher- 
(312) 



A Day in Oxford. 313 

well and see before you a mass of venerable buildings, 
which the ravages of time have only made more pictur- 
esque. Prague, from the Hradschin, may be more quaint ; 
Salzburg, from the castle, may be more grand ; Edin- 
burgh, from Scott's monument, may be more stately ; 
but Oxford arouses, if not such intense, yet more varied 
emotions than any of these. Within those walls En- 
gland's heroes have been nurtured. Philosophers and 
statesmen, theologians and military chieftains, artists 
and scientists, have developed here. The mightiest and 
most widely felt movements in Church and State have 
here originated, or worked themselves out to a con- 
clusion. Under the roof of Canterbury Hall, long be- 
fore Luther was born, the Reformation began in the 
heart of John Wycliffe. In St. Mary's church up there 
on High Street, with its beautiful porch of twisted stone, 
and its famous statue of the Virgin, Archbishop Cran- 
mer was summoned, in Queen Mary's time, to deny the 
doctrines of Wycliffe, and refusing, was burned at the 
stake with Latimer and Ridley before Baliol College, a 
few hundred yards away. Within the walls of Magdalen, 
at whose tower one never tires of looking, James H. 
fought his last battle with the Church of England, 
when he tried to make a Roman Catholic its head- 
master. The golden cup given to the college in honor 
of its triumph over the king, is still preserved as a price- 
less treasure. Under those arched trees Addison, the 
elegant essayist, loved to walk. In some little room in 
Lincoln, John Wesley studied the history of the Church 
in all ages, and prayed that he might be used to arouse 
and quicken the sleeping Church of the eighteenth cent- 



314 Saunterings in Europe. 

ury. Samuel Johnson, the founder of a new era in En- 
glish literature, struggled on through three hard years 
of poverty as a student of Pembroke, whose gate is now 
adorned with his effigy. The " Prince of Pulpit Ora- 
tors," the leader of the Calvinistic Methodists, George 
Whitefield, was also a member of this college. It is to 
a company of young men — the ruling spirits were Keble, 
Newman, and Pusey — who were students at Oriel in the 
first half of this century, that the strongest and most 
influential party in the Church of England to-day, 
traces its origin. Here were written the " Tracts for 
the Times," which moved the English Church to its 
foundations, and called into existence a great band of 
ritualists. Peel, Canning, and Gladstone were trained 
in Christ Church. Adam Smith, Sir William Hamil- 
ton, and the present Archbishop of Canterbury, studied 
at Baliol. 

To stand over the graves of men who were giants in 
their day, should stir deep thoughts ; but to walk through 
the halls and rooms where heroes have lived, and worked, 
and battled with discouragements and obstacles num- 
berless, ought to quicken the pulse of the most stolid. 
It was my good fortune to walk for some hours among 
such scenes as these with the Master of University Col- 
lege, the successor of Plumptre, whose fame has been 
carried everywhere by his theological writings. Through 
his kindness I saw a number of interesting places which 
I should otherwise have missed. That a man so intense- 
ly busy as Dr. Bradley should devote to a comparative 
stranger the larger part of an afternoon, gave to the ob- 
jects which he pointed out a coloring which it is possible 



A Day in Oxford. 315 

made them appear to my gratitude fully as beautiful as 
they really were. 

Among other things which I saw in that walk, I think 
I discovered one of the reasons why the Master of Uni- 
versity is among the most popular and successful of all 
the Oxford dignitaries. Every man we passed from his 
College, was greeted with a heartiness which had in it 
no element of condescension. Whether they were mem- 
bers of the crew going down to the river for a pull, or 
cricketers on their way to the field, with pads, and bats, 
they all received some pleasant word, which showed more 
real interest in themselves and their Oxford life, than a 
whole series of sermons on love and sympathy. A col- 
lege with such a man at the head becomes a school for 
the development of a solid, honest, manly character.'-^ 

I also had the honor of dining in University with the 
Fellows. In a long hall, with walls and ceiling of pol- 
ished oak, we sat at a table raised a little above the under- 
graduates on a platform. Ordinarily nearly all the stu- 
dents '' dine in hall," as it is called ; but that night, on 
account of the boat races, the Fellows had the room to 
themselves. Around and above us were oil paintings of 
the College benefactors ; while before us was a dinner 
which might have made a miser feel ready to become a 
benefactor. 

As soon as our repast, which was seasoned with no 
little wit and wisdom, was ended, I hurried to the river 
to see one of the sights which Mr. Hughes, in his de- 
lightful " Tom Brown at Oxford," has described as no 



* University College has lately lost its popular Master. Dr. Brad- 
ley is now Dean of Westminster Abbey. 



3i6 Saunterings in Europe. 

one else could. Every year, near the close of the sum- 
mer term, the crews of the different colleges struggle for 
some seven nights, for what in boating parlance is called 
''the head of the river." The boats take their position, 
a short distance apart, a mile or so below Christ Church 
Meadows. If the first boat is touched, or '' bumped " 
by the one behind before the goal near the University 
barge is passed, it loses its place to the one by whom it 
has been '' bumped." So it is possible in these races for 
the boat which begins lowest down, to make a bump 
night after night, till it grasps at last the proudest of 
boating honors, "the head of the river." 

From the number of boats, and the manner of rowing, 
these races are much more exciting than the annual con- 
test between Oxford and Cambridge. Exciting for 
those who try to look calmly on from the banks or the 
barges, what must they be for the men in the boats ! 
Poor fellows ! you wonder if they are feeling as Tom 
Brown's biographer says his hero felt : " There goes the 
second gun ; one short minute more, and we are off. 
Short minute indeed ! You wouldn't say so if you were 
in the boat, with your heart in your mouth, and trem- 
bling all over like a man with the palsy. Those sixty 
seconds before the starting gun in your first race — why 
they are a lifetime." But there comes the report rolling 
up the river, and you are glad, not only for your own 
sake, but for the men who are to row, that those dread- 
ful seconds are passed, and that they have something 
else to do now besides trembling. A roar, at first like 
the mutterings of a distant storm, grows more distinct. 
Now you can distinguish human voices. From the vol- 



A Day in Oxford. 317 

ume of sound rise two or three high, sharp, harsh cheers. 
Men running along the banks, waving their caps in the 
air, shouting and making strange noises way down in 
their throats never heard at any other time, with dogs 
barking at their heels, sweep around a curve in the river, 
and the next instant the first boat shoots into sight. A 
long gap of clean water separates it from the second. 
It is in no danger of a bump. There is something in the 
sweep of the oars that tells you there is a most agreea- 
ble feeling of safety and satisfaction shared by every mem- 
ber of that crew. But each man in the boat just behind 
is pulling as if he had thrown the accumulated strength 
of twenty years in his back and arms. Can it be that 
they still hope to make a bump ? An instant more, and 
the question is answered. Just behind, so near that you 
can see no water between, is the prow of a boat that 
from the start has been gaining inch by inch, till it 
seems no longer possible that its prize should escape ; 
yet it is only a few hundred yards to the goal. The 
shouts of the men on the banks become fiercer. The 
two colleges struggling with each other out there on the 
river, are represented by two excited crowds on the 
banks. The boats have drawn so near together that 
these rival bands have mingled ; you almost expect to 
see those who are dreading defeat, pitch the men who 
are hoping for victory, into the stream. But there is no 
time for any by-play. Thirty seconds more, and the race 
will be over ! With a mighty effort of muscle and will, 
the long oars are shot through the water. The first boat 
passes the goal, and is safe ; but the third is drawing up 
to the second at every stroke. Ten seconds more, and 



3i8 Saunterings in Europe. 

these poor fellows, pursued almost to the death, may have 
"peace with honor." The shouts cease. Feeling is too 
intense for noise. There are but two feet between the 
boats. We hold our breath. Then a great cheer breaks 
the silence. A hundred cry " a bump," '' a bump," and 
side by side, lying on their oars, the two crews, victor 
and vanquished, pass the goal. Some of the men in the 
" bumped boat " are panting like race-horses. One of 
them rests his head on his hands, and you can see his 
heart beat under his bare breast. You hope he may 
never have a harder struggle in life, than that through 
which he has just passed, and never a defeat which he 
will feel more keenly, than that which he has just re- 
ceived. 

Through the hospitality of one of the Fellows of the 
University — who deserves always to have the epithet 
"good" written before that title — I enjoyed the privi- 
lege of sleeping within the college walls. It was very 
pleasant for me, probably pleasanter than for some of 
the students, to be awakened in the morning by the sing- 
ing of birds, and the ringing of college bells, and to see 
from the opened windows, through leaves and blossoms, 
the men in caps and gowns hurrying across the quadrangle 
to the chapel. It was so pleasant, too, to breakfast and 
lunch with my university friend, that as I looked around 
his beautiful rooms, hung with pictures, and filled with 
choicest books, I fear I may have encouraged him to per- 
sist in his "unblessed bachelorhood" by my enthusiastic 
admiration for his way of living. 

Besides dinners, and boat-races, and breakfasts, my 
short Oxford experience also embraced a lecture on 



A Day in Oxford. 319 

theology by Dr. King, one of the best known professors 
of Christ's Church. He is said to be a ritualist, and his 
peculiar priestly garb seems to attest the truth of the 
assertion, so that it was specially impressive to hear from 
his lips a very hearty commendation of the writings of 
the great Nonconformists, Bunyan, and Baxter, and 
Doddridge, and Robert Hall. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

EDINBURGH. 

The City from Calion Hill — May in Edinburgh-^ The 
Two Assemblies — A State Church — A Free Church — 
Grey friars Churchyard. 

WHIRLED on through the cathedral cities of 
Ely, York, and Durham, and for miles along 
high Scottish cliffs above the ocean, we plunged unex- 
pectedly into the heart of Edinburgh. The full beauty 
of the city bursts upon you, as you leave the station. On 
the hills which rise from either side of a deep, wide gorge, 
sit majestic buildings, of which any European capital 
might be proud. Massive stone arches bridge the chasm. 
High above the city, on a great mountain-like rock, is 
the far-famed castle that has sometimes protected, and 
sometimes subdued, the town beneath it. Beautiful 
homes and stately churches complete one of the fairest 
scenes the eye of man has ever looked upon. 

If you take your stand by Scott's monument, as you 
are quite sure to do at the earliest possible moment, you 
will be able to comprehend why the great poet and novelist 
should have had such an intense love for the city of his 

birth. While you are looking at the skilfully carved statue 

(320) 



Edinburgh. 321 

and the many figures which surround it ; while you are 
thinking of that Hfe so full of disappointments and ad- 
versities, yet so fruitful of pleasure to unnumbered multi- 
tudes, the long twilight has faded, the lamps have been 
lighted, and as you lift your eyes the scene before you is 
more striking, if not more beautiful, than by daylight. 
The tall, many-storied buildings along the Cannongate 
rise till their tops are lost in deep shadows. The glim- 
mering lights from some of the windows of the castle 
seem unearthly and unreal, as if the spirits of Bothwell, 
and Riccio, and Darnley had corne to visit the rooms 
which the false and beautiful Mary had once occupied. 
Beyond the city, looking down in stately scorn, is 
Arthur's Seat, likened by Scott " to the majestic throne 
of some terrible and fabulous genius." By your side 
runs Princess Street, broad and beautiful, the pride of 
the city, aglow with brilliant lights, and throbbing with 
life. All this Edinburgh, with unexampled liberality, 
offers to those who spend even a few hours within her 
walls, and without any effort on their part. If they are 
persuaded to linger for days or weeks, and are willing to 
work a little for what they are to get, she will reveal to 
them continuously some new beauty. Any one who 
struggles up the steep sides of Calton Hill will be more 
than repaid at the first glance for all the effort. The 
whole city lies beneath. Holyrood, the palace of the 
old Scottish kings, the home of Queen Mary, the scene 
of Riccio's murder, seems almost underfoot. Leith, the 
seaport of Edinburgh, appears scarcely a stone's throw 
away. The mountains around the city look no smaller 
from this height, but between them, and over them, 
14* 



322 Saunterings in Europe. 

far away, are the blue peaks of Ben Lomond and 
Benledi. 

" Traced like a map the landscape lies 
In cultured beauty stretching wide ; 
There Pentland's green acclivities, 
There ocean with its azure tide, 
There Arthur's Seat; and gleaming through 
Thy southern wing Dunedin blue. 
While in the orient Lammer's daughters, 
A distant giant range, are seen. 

Edinburgh adds annually in May to its own attractions, 
those special ones which are connected with the presence 
of a very large number of men influential both in Church 
and State. The two Assemblies, the Established and 
Free, are then in session, and among the delegates to each 
are always to be found some of the leading pulpit orators, 
noblemen, and statesmen of Scotland. Then the palace, 
which is closed for eleven months of the year — with the 
exception of Queen Mary's apartments — is thrown open, 
and made for the time the home of the Lord High Com- 
missioner. 

On the morning when the Assembly of the Estab- 
lished Church is to meet, the street before the palace 
is filled with guards in brilliant uniform, and dra- 
goons with high, plumed helmets and glittering sabres. 
A great crowd, evidently made up largely of minis- 
ters, passes through the palace doors and up the broad 
staircase to the long hall, hung with the pictures of the 
Scottish kings, where the Queen's representative is hold- 
ing his levee. After all the delegates, clerical and lay, 
have been introduced, the procession is formed and winds 



Edinburgh. 323 

along through the two great thoroughfares of the new 
town and the old to the Cathedral of St. Giles. In Sir 
Walter Scott's day, as he tells us in the '' Heart of Mid- 
lothian," even the Royal Commissioner, and those of 
high rank with him, passed through the streets on foot, 
but since that time more form has been introduced. 
The Commissioner rides in a State carriage drawn by 
four beautiful horses. Handsomely mounted troopers in 
magnificent uniforms precede him. Hundreds of private 
and public equipages bring up the rear. Both sides of 
High Street are packed with masses of people standing 
on tip-toe and stretching their necks to see what may 
pass. The blare of trumpets announces that her Majesty's 
representative has entered the church. Preceded by an 
official who carries a golden mace, the symbol of au- 
thority, he takes his place in the royal pew. The serv- 
ice of prayer and praise is then begun, and the retiring 
Moderator preaches a sermon. At the conclusion the 
procession is re-formed and enters Victoria Hall amid 
the thunder of guns from the castle, which proclaims to 
Edinburgh, and to Scotland, that another Assembly of 
the Church has met. The Queen's Commissioner makes 
an address, to which the newly elected Moderator re- 
sponds, and the regular business of the Church is entered 
upon. 

Every evening at eight o'clock some two or more 
of the Presbyteries are entertained at dinner in the 
palace. A long table runs through the whole length 
of the portrait-gallery. While the appetite is tempted 
with innumerable delicacies the ear is gratified with the 
music of a military band. Toasts are drunk, in wine or 



324 Saunterings in Europe. 

water as one may choose, to the Church and Queen, to 
the Lord High Commissioner and his lady, and to the 
Moderator. After dinner a few moments are spent with 
the ladies in one of the State apartments. To an Ameri- 
can Presbyterian this intercourse between Church and 
State is all very novel, and may be very suggestive. 

In a hall directly opposite that of the Established 
Church the Free Church Assembly begins its sittings at 
the same hour. As we in the States look back to the 
rebellion of '6i, so Scotland looks back to the disruption 
of '43. This was for her a crisis scarcely less momentous 
than the civil war for us. The old church of Hamilton, 
and Wishart, and Knox shook and trembled, as it never 
had before the persecutions of Laud and Sharpe. In 
one hour, and by one blow, it was rent in twain. For 
the time it seemed doubtful whether either portion 
would live. But the strong vitality that had withstood 
the shock of centuries, had been only bruised and stunned, 
not destroyed. It began to manifest itself in each of these 
disunited members. So many new buildings were erected 
and congregations gathered, that before a decade had 
passed, the working power of the churches of Scotland 
was doubled. It was long hoped that the disunited 
churches would gradually grow together, but though the 
two Assemblies sit annually not a hundred yards apart, 
an intangible something keeps them as far from each 
other as if an impassable wall had been built between 
them. 

Many objects of great historical interest are within a 
ten-minutes' walk of these halls. Almost under the 
shadow of the Victoria spire is a church of modest 



Edinburgh 325 

dimensions, which was so upHfted on the shoulders of a 
great man that the whole world could see it. It was in 
that pulpit that Thomas Guthrie painted such beauteous 
pictures of sacred things, that they caught the eye, and 
touched the heart of hundreds of the indifferent or the 
hostile. His genius for good works raised him so high 
that his name is now exalted above the smoke of the 
battle, and all the churches of Scotland unite in honor- 
ing it. Further down the Cannongate is the house of 
John Knox. At the base of the hill on which Guthrie's 
church and the Assembly halls stand is the renowned 
Grass market, where saints have been hung for their 
faith, and criminals for their evil deeds. 

A turn to the left, and we pass in a few moments 
the University whose fame has gone almost as far 
as that of the city in which it stands. Far more 
like Berlin or Leipsic, than Oxford or Cambridge, it 
rivals these German universities in the immense num- 
ber of its students. Some 3,000 were in attendance 
last year. A little way further on we come to a gate 
that has been thrown open for the entrance of many 
a sad procession. We enter, and stand on the spot 
where a document, almost as well known to history as 
the Declaration of Independence, was signed in blood. 
This is the churchyard of Greyfriars. It was here that 
eager crowds of brave men and women placed their 
names to the National Covenant of 1638. What that 
meant, and what they knew it meant, we may read fur- 
ther on from the inscription of an old monument in a 
corner of the churchyard : " From May 27th, 1661, that 
the most noble Marquis of Argyle was beheaded, to the 



326 Saunterings in Europe. 

17th of February, 1688, that Mr. James Renwick suffered, 
were, one way or other, murdered and destroyed for the 
same cause, about 18,000, of whom were executed at 
Edinburgh about 100 of noblemen, gentlemen, ministers, 
and others, noble martyrs for Jesus Christ." It is a spot 
where we might shed tears for the past, and form brave, 
fearless purposes for the future. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 

ST. ANDREWS, PERTH, AND ABERDEEN. 

The Ntiremberg of North Britain — The Ruined Cathe- 
dral—The Home of the ''Fair Maid'' — Comvieixial 
Aberdeen — An Ecclesiastical Controversy. 

^r^HERE is not a more venerable city in all Scotland 
A than St. Andrews. It is the Nuremberg of North 
Britain. To rush into such a town behind a screaminsr 
locomotive, is felt to be an incongruity. With the palm- 
er's garb and staff, or the armor and spear of a medieval 
knight, one should pass under that ancient portal. It 
was still twilight, though late in the evening, when I en- 
tered the city, after the manner of the commonplace 
modern tourist. The streets were as quiet as if all the 
people had fled to their houses, fearing the attack of 
some Highland clan. The lamps had not yet been 
lighted, and through the dusk the tall, dark houses 
looked weird and phantom-like. 

Though St. Andrews seems to have no modern com- 
merce or manufactories, treasures of inestimable value 
have come down to it from the past, in its rich legacy of his- 
torical associations. Here the blood of martyrs has been 
shed. Here reformers have been born and nurtured. Here 
the most momentous and tragic events in Scotti"5h church 

(327) 



328 Saunterings in Europe. 

history were enacted. I sought out at once the cathedral, 
a ruin now, but 300 years ago a very perfect and beautiful 
monument of Gothic architectural skill. The highly 
ornamented front alone remains. Looking upon it, and 
trying in imagination to rebuild the edifice as it must 
once have been, I could understand, if not wholly share, 
the indignation of the High Churchman and Tory, Dr. 
Johnson, when he stood there with Boswell, and uttered 
his tirade aeainst the mistaken zeal, which for the time 
— as these ruins bear but too sufficient testimony — trans- 
formed Protestants into vandals. But the judgment of 
Sir Walter Scott, himself a strong Churchman, was more 
charitable. He understood better than the gruff old En- 
glish lexicographer, how to make allowance for the spirit 
of the age. Enraged at the corruptions of the Church 
of Rome, inspired by the precepts and example of He- 
brew prophets, the men of St. Andrews, urged on, it is 
said, by a sermon from John Knox, rushed to the cathe- 
dral to tear down the altar, upon which, as they believed, 
false fires had been lighted, and abominations in the 
sight of the Lord committed. We must regret that 
their intense zeal was not mingled with a fuller knowl- 
edge ; but while condemning the act, we cannot con- 
demn the motive. 

Close by the cathedral, looking down as if in pity on 
its old-time neighbor, stands the lofty tower of St. Regu- 
lus, more than a hundred feet in height. The storm of 
fury that levelled the great church to the earth, fortu- 
nately spared this tower ; but the chapel which was con- 
nected with it, shared the fate of the cathedral. 

Only enough of Archbishop Beaton's great palace re- 



St. Andrews, Perth, and Aberdeen. 329 

mains standing to show what the home of that proud, 
cruel prelate must have been. Perhaps it was from one 
of those windows, now almost hidden with ivy, that the 
stern old persecutor looked out and smiled, to see such 
a heretic as Patrick Hamilton burning at the stake. 

It were the walls of this castle and the spire of the 
cathedral, so Mr. Froude tells us, that caught the eye of 
a poor slave toiling wearily at the long oar of a French 
galley, that swept one morning along the coast by St. 
Andrews. This slave had been a Scottish priest — was to 
be the greatest of Scottish reformers. The city, rising in 
its beauty before his moistened eyes, was to be insepara- 
bly connected with his own name. Castle, and cathedral, 
and parish church, and the town itself, are all interwoven 
with the life and work of John Knox. 

But St. Andrews is by no means a city of the dead. 
It is the seat of a university. It is the home of such lead- 
ing spirits as Principal Tulloch and Prof. Crombie, and 
Dr. Boyd, ''The Country Parson." Its influence is still 
felt all over Scotland. 

Perth owes its fame as much to a fair maid of Sir 
Walter's imagination, as to any historical associations. 
A royal duke was murdered here by his brother, Edward 
III., King of England. The Pretender to the crown of 
the Stuarts was crowned here in 1745. But Scott's story 
has so enveloped the city with its own peculiar atmos- 
phere, that pilgrimages are now only made to the places 
which he has connected with the incidents of his tale. 
The beauty of Perth consists rather in its situation than 
in fine streets and noble edifices. The Tay sweeps by 
and through the town, and from the stone bridge which 



330 Saunterings in Europe. 

joins the two portions thus sundered, Perth presents its 
fairest aspect. On one of the meadows by the river-side, 
was fought the deadly combat between the two High- 
land clans, which Scott has made the climax of his story. 
Somewhere up those banks on the other side, the young 
chief of the defeated clan fled away, unwounded, but 
wild with fright, and carrying in his breast, like a fatal 
poisoned arrow, the terrible consciousness of his own 
cowardice and degradation. 

I was glad to see that the City Fathers, while show- 
ing their loyalty to the crown by erecting a statue to 
Prince Albert, had not forgotten to honor in a similar 
manner the great genius whose pen has given to Perth 
a literary immortality. At the end of one of the princi- 
pal streets Sir Walter stands, with his favorite dog by 
his side, looking down placidly upon the city in whose 
beauty he took such delight. 

I was greatly surprised at Aberdeen. I had expected 
to find it somewhat such a place as Perth or St. An- 
drews, full of age and dignity, disdainful of modern trade 
and commerce ; but through its main street, broad and 
beautiful, built of solid gray granite, flows such an un- 
ceasing tide of business, that one might almost mistake 
the city for Glasgow or Liverpool, It has thrust out of 
sight, like a belle of an uncertain age, all signs of an- 
tiquity. Though one must look carefully to find them, 
they are here, and will repay the search. In one of the 
side streets, behind a block of buildings, where no one, 
unguided, would ever think of going, is a building which 
for more than 400 years has been used as a college chapel. 
It is now the centre of the modern University of Aber- 



St. Andrews, Perth, and Aberdeen. 331 

deen, formed by the union of two ancient colleges. There 
is a cathedral in this part of the city, which is a hundred 
years older ; but it is a dwarf, and so easily succeeds in 
hiding itself that even a visitor to Aberdeen who was 
cathedral-mad might go away without having found it. 

A monument of comparative antiquity stands in open 
sight at the end of one of the principal streets. It is a 
peculiar cross of carved stone, containing medallions of 
some of the Scottish monarchs. Doubtless, like the old 
cross by the side of St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh, at 
whose removal Scott was so indignant, it was once 
used for public proclamations, and as an elevated 
position from which the town-crier could make his voice 
heard to the greatest distance. 

The most stately and cathedral-like edifice in Aber- 
deen, is composed of two churches closely vmited, with 
only a tall tower between them. Differing somewhat in 
color and in architectural style, they yet harmonize suffi- 
ciently well to present a very imposing appearance. 

It would be impossible, with any just appreciation of 
perspective, to speak of the churches and colleges of 
Aberdeen, without making mention of an exciting topic 
which for the last two years has thrust itself repeatedly 
into both pulpits and lecture-rooms. A young Professor 
in the Free College was asked by the editor of the 
" Encyclopaedia Britannica," to write some articles for a 
new edition of that famous work. The request was ac- 
cepted, and the articles published. Not long after Prof. 
Smith, the author, was charged before his Presbytery 
with having advanced in these essays heretical theories 
of some of the Old Testament books. The charge was 



332 Saunterings in Europe. 

denied. Ecclesiastical machinery, which it would be 
tedious to describe, was then set in motion, and by it 
Prof. Smith and his case have been held so continuously 
before the public, that not only the editors of religious 
and secular newspapers are able to discuss all the ramifi- 
cations of the trial, but even the boys who sell these 
papers on the streets, are violent partisans in their way. 
Whatever fate may await the brilliant Professor at the 
hands of General Assembly or Presbytery, Aberdeen 
has received almost as great notoriety as if it had with- 
stood a siege, or some bloody battle had been fought in 
its streets. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THROUGH LOCH LOMOND AND LOCH KATRINE. 

Creative Power of Genius — The Land of Rob Roy— El- 
len's Isle — Stirling Castle. 

THE "Wizard of the North " has made the islands 
and shores of Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine 
enchanted ground. He covered them with the jewels 
of his exuberant fancy, till the eyes of the world were 
dazzled. If Scott had not written '' Rob Roy," and 
" The Lady of the Lake," the names of these famous 
Lochs might not yet have been known outside the 
United Kingdom. There is something almost divine in 
the creative power of genius. It calls fair women and 
brave men out of the unreal, clothes them with more 
than human virtues, gives them life, and sends them 
forth to awaken an interest more intense, it may be, 
than could have been aroused by beings formed of flesh 
and blood. Or it seizes upon some outlaw, or simple 
maiden, and so tells the story of their lives, that we 
read of the half mythical creatures with an almost pain- 
ful fascination, though we might have watched the 
triumphs and defeats of the actual characters with 
placid indifference. Multitudes every summer gaze more 

(333) 



334 Saunterings in Europe. 

eagerly on Rob Roy's Cave and Ellen's Isle than on the 
ruined castle of a baron, or the mouldering palace of a 
princess. 

It was a cold, wet afternoon in September when I 
left Glasgow to make the tour of these Lochs. There 
were not more than twenty passengers on board the 
steamer when we started from the lower end of Loch 
Lomond for Inversnaid. The larger part of these 
were too brave to be driven below by the rain, or not 
brave enough to do as they wanted to, rather than as 
other people did. Rob Roy himself would have taken 
pity on us, I am sure, if he could have seen us as we sat 
there muffled to the ears, shivering in the rain, but very 
determined that nothing worth seeing in this land of his 
should be passed by unnoticed. Now and then some 
one would draw out a volume which looked as if it had 
just been bought in Glasgow, and protecting it from the 
rain, would look through it as far as the uncut leaves 
permitted, to see if Scott had said anything about the 
particular place we were just passing. There was noth- 
ing in our immediate surroundings to arouse enthusiasm, 
but we thought as much of the scenery as was visible, 
very beautiful, and that it would have been very beau- 
tiful even if Sir Walter had never been born. Our 
course up the Lake was a continued zigzag. The little 
towns and settlements seemed to have been purposely 
so arranged that no consecutive two should be on the 
same side ; but though we lost somewhat in time, we 
were more than compensated by the increased variety 
given to the scene by our perpetually changing position. 
Some of the prettier islands — and the prettiest ones 



Through Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine. 335 

were very pretty — we saw on all sides. We were able 
to look into both the front and back door of two or 
three almost palatial villas. 

We saw the narrow pass through which the Highland 
clans descended upon their Lowland enemies in the 
good old times when the law winked at, or was power- 
less to prevent such depredations. We saw the cave 
where Rob Roy, that most gallant of bandits, is said to 
have kept his prisoners. They were lowered down, and 
dropped in by a rope, and whatever they had to eat 
came in the same way. The rain was so persistent, and 
so successful in finding its way under umbrellas, and 
down the back of one's neck, that at last I capitulated 
and went below. Here I found an abundance of those 
peculiar odors, without which no steamer, however small, 
and on whatever waters, seems to be complete ; but I 
also found a little window near the prow, from which 
there was a very good view of anything that might be 
directly in front of us. In this ignominious position we 
reached Inversnaid, where Wordsworth saw the pretty 
Highland maiden, of whom he says : 

" The lake, the bay, the waterfall, 
An' thee — the spirit of them all." 

We hurried from the landing to the hospitable fire- 
side of the hotel, only a few yards away, where we spent 
the evening in reading guide-books, and listening to the 
more than marvellous tales of some English and Ameri- 
can travellers who had been everywhere and seen every- 
thing — if one might believe what they said. Every one 
predicted that night that it was sure to be clear the next 



336 Saunterings in Europe. 

day, but every one was wofully wrong. The rain was 
beating mercilessly against the windows as I looked out 
for the early coach to Loch Katrine. As I proved to 
be the only passenger, a one-horse cart was substituted for 
the four-horse coach. We drove over the top of one of 
the smaller mountains, in full sight of some of the loft- 
iest of the Highland peaks, and through miles of moor- 
land covered with heather, which might have been brilliant 
in coloring if not so completely soaked with water. Two 
hours of moderate driving brought us to the landing at 
the upper end of Loch Katrine. When the little steamer 
which makes the trip of the lake several times each day, 
came to the Loch, there were three passengers on board, 
but these were all on their way to Loch Lomond, so 
once more I went on in solitary grandeur. The rain, 
which had two or three times slackened, as if to stop, 
now came down in torrents. I did not even make the 
attempt to remain on the uncovered deck. Fortunately, 
the cabin was abundantly supplied with windows, which 
gave as wide an outlook as it was possible to get, when 
the clouds were hanging so heavily over the lake. With 
the water and mountains bathed in a flood of sunlight 
Loch Katrine, I am told, is enchantingly beautiful ; but 
that day all its charms were so veiled by the storm that 
my admiration never once merged into enthusiasm. We 
ran near enough to Ellen's Isle to have tossed a copy of 
the " Lady of the Lake " at the feet of the fair maiden, 
had she been standing upon the shore watching for Mal- 
colm Graeme's shallop. 

A great coach stood waiting at the dock, and taking 
a top seat, on an india-rubber cushion, which was 



Through Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine. 337 

a silent witness of almost perpetual rains, we rattled 
on through the Trossachs. This is the most famous 
gorge in Scotland. The mountains seem as if split 
in twain by the blow of a gigantic hammer. The 
wound has been hidden by tall trees, and luxuriant 
ferns and tangled vines. It was difficult once, even for 
strong-limbed Scots like James Fitz James, to push their 
way to the lake ; but we swept easily along, over a 
smooth road, to the doors of a pretty, castle-like hotel, 
where another coach was just ready to start for Callan- 
der. A gentleman had already placed himself in the 
middle of one of the front seats, and following his exam- 
ple, we started on at a pace which blazed our path by 
the plashes from the puddles which our wheels sent 
against the trees. We rolled over the bridge where the 
gallant gray of Fitz James, the disguised king, fell dead, 
exhausted in the too rapid chase. We crossed the ford 
to which Rhoderick Dhu, in the chivalric spirit of a 
Highland chieftain, led Fitz James, and cried, as he 
threw down his target and plaid : 

" Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
See ! here all vantageless I stand, 
Armed, Hke thyself, with single brand ; 
For this is Coilantogle Ford, 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

The railway carriage which we took at Callander was 
a less romantic means of conveyance, perhaps, than the 
coach we had just left, but it was very much more com- 
fortable to hear the rain beating on the windows than to 
feel it soaking through blankets and overcoats. We were 
15 



338 Saunterings in Europe. 

rushing along over about the same route as that taken 
by Fitz James and his escort, after the king had defeated 
the chieftain in their bloody combat at Coilantogle Ford. 
More quickly than they, though they fled for their lives, 
we reached the place where 

" The buhvark of the North, 
Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, 
Upon their fleet career looked down." 

Stirling Castle was the home of Fitz James, as of many 
a Scottish king before and after him. It is both a for- 
tress and a palace. The high rock on which it stands, 
m.ust have made it impregnable before the engines of 
modern warfare were introduced. From the castle win- 
dows, it is said, the battle-fields are seen where William 
Wallace, in 1287, and Robert Bruce, in 1 3 14, so signally 
defeated English armies greatly outnumbering their own. 
Tv/o kings, James II. and V., Avere born here ; and here 
the first of these slew, with his own hand, the powerful 
Earl of Douglass, who had conspired against him. There 
are not many old royal castles in Europe that have not 
been stained with blood. He who wore a crown a few 
centuries ago, must have been ready at any moment to 
kill or be killed. We rushed on through the town of 
Stirling, and over fields made forever memorable by the 
deadly struggles of armed men, and pass the ruins of a 
once famous abbey. We rolled through a long tunnel, 
and when we came again into the lis^ht the massive cas- 
tie of Edinburgh was hanging over us, and the beautiful 
city seemed to have opened her arms to receive us. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

SOME SCOTCH HOI^IES. 
Sti'acathro — Keith Hall^Kilkerran — A rdcncraig. 

AT the close of the General Assembly of the Church 
of Scotland, it Is customary for the Moderator to 
give a great dinner, at which a number of speeches arc 
made. Having been so fortunate as to be asked to this 
high feast of the Church, I enjoyed an exceedingly pleas- 
ant evening, and carried away with me, among other 
agreeable recollections, a very cordial invitation from Mr. 
Campbell, who had responded to the toast, '' The elder- 
ship," to visit him some time during the month of Au- 
gust. Stracathro, Mr. Campbell's estate, lies near Bre- 
chin. Small as this town is, the name is by no means 
unfamiliar to American ears. Thomas Guthrie, one of 
the most eloquent preachers of modern times, and who 
did more, perhaps, than any other man except Chalmers 
for the- success of the Free Church, was born in Brechin. 
The famous President of Princeton, a brother-in-law of 
Dr. Guthrie, began his ministry there, if I mistake not. 
As we drove through the village, built of stone, as all 
Scotch towns are, we were reminded of the antiquity of 
Brechin by a glimpse we caught of a tall, round tower, 

(339) 



340 Saunterings in Europe. 

rising by the side of the parish church, and which was 
erected, it is supposed, some centuries before England 
was conquered by the Normans. 

The house which Mr. Campbell now occupies was built 
some fifty years ago by a returned East India merchant, 
who was deceived, probably with the rest of the world, in 
thinking himself a far richer man than he Avas. The ex- 
pense was apparently never taken into consideration when 
building. The entrance is through a great hall, whose high 
vaulted roof is upheld by monolith pillars of rare stone. 
The walls are formed of a peculiar mosaic. The floor is 
of variegated marbles. The East India purse was not 
deep enough to bear such an expenditure. The house 
was scarcely completed before it was offered for sale, and 
purchased by Mr. Campbell's father, Sir J. Campbell, 
who had held in Glasgow the high position of Lord Pro- 
vost. In addition to the care of his estate, the duties 
and responsibilities of a trustee of the Baird Fund rest 
upon Mr. Campbell's shoulders. This fund is the largest 
bequest that has ever been made to the Church of Scot- 
land. Mr. Baird, a wealthy iron merchant of Glasgow, 
gave during his lifetime some $2,500,000, the interest of 
which is to be used according to the discretion of the 
trustees, for building and sustaining churches. It certain- 
ly is a very great honor to hold such a trust, but when 
we remember the multitudes who are always more than 
ready to ask for anything they imagine they need, and 
are equally energetic in the application of unpleasant 
epithets when their requests are refused, it is not diffi- 
cult to understand how such an honor might prove abso- 
lutely crushing. Mr. Campbell bears up under it well, 



Some Scotch Homes. 341 

and from his general popularity in the Church, I should 
judge he must be the possessor of the mysterious faculty 
by which a request is so refused, that a favor seems to 
have been granted.'^ 

I found a goodly number of guests enjoying the liberal 
hospitality of Stracathro. The party at dinner was al- 
ways quite large enough to have made a most respect- 
able table d'hote. We more than filled a great wagonette 
when we went to drive. Yet the hospitality of our host 
and hostess, and the capacity of their home, seemed to 
be suffering under no unusual or excessive tax. My stay 
at Stracathro was necessarily much shorter than I could 
have wished, but it was long enough to include a num- 
ber of drives ; a walk through beautiful Glen Esk, and a 
visit to the summer residence of Dr. Burns, the popular 
preacher of the Glasgow Cathedral. 

From the home of this Established Church elder, I 
went to that of a Free Church elder, but without expe- 
riencing any feeling whatever of ^' disruption." About 
twenty miles from Aberdeen, near the village of In- 
verurie, stands Keith Hall, the seat for many genera- 
tions of the Earls of Kintore. The present Earl is an 
enthusiastic, but liberal-minded Free Churchman. He 
is the only nobleman, I understand, who holds the po- 
sition of an elder in that church, and his services are in 
constant demand on public occasions. From the num- 
ber of silver trowels I saw at Keith Hall, Lord Kintore 
must have laid the corner-stone of many a Free Church. 
He has preached in a still greater number, not only of 



*Mr. Campbell is now M.P. for Glasgow University, 



342 Saunterings in Europe. 

the Free, but also of the Established, and United Pres- 
byterian. Some of Lord Kintore's ancestors carved out 
for themselves, with the sword, a large place in both En- 
glish and German history. In Berlin a statue of bronze 
commemorates the services of one of them who gained 
much glory in the armies of Frederick the Great. Keith 
Hall is one of those most comfortable mansions in which 
the solidity of age is combined with every modern im- 
provement. The grounds in which it stands are beauti- 
ful enough to attract hundreds from Aberdeen on Satur- 
days, when they are thrown open to visitors. The Earl 
does not shut himself off from association with the 
clergy of the Established Church, because he has cast in 
his lot with the Free. We took a long walk through 
his carefully kept park, to call on a parish minister, and 
one evening at dinner, two of the Established clergy sat 
at the table as honored guests, and the crisis of 1843 was 
not once mentioned. If all the leading men in the vari- 
ous Scotch churches Avere possessed with this spirit of 
love, unbroken harmony, if not organic union, would 
make glad the hearts of the people.^'' 

From Inverurie, I went through the Highlands, and 
the ''Land of Burns," to Kilkerran, the seat of Sir 
James Fergusson. I was greatly amused by a dis- 
cussion in the railway-carriage betv/een two gentlemen 
concerning Sir James' estate and character. As we 
rode for some miles through his land, the beauty of 
the different farms was dwelt upon, and the statement 
that Sir James took a great interest in his tenants, was 



* A few months after this was written, Lord Kintore died very 
suddenly at his house in London. 



Some Scotch Homes. 343 

enforced by the fact of his teaching a large class of their 
children every Sunday afternoon. There seemed to be 
only one shadow to the picture, and that was brought 
out by a remark which one of them made, apparently 
more in sadness than anger, '' Sir James is a Tory." I 
was not greatly surprised by this, as I knew already that 
he was for many years one of the leading Conservative 
members of Parliament, and was appointed by Lord 
Beaconsfleld, Governor of South Australia and a member 
of the Privy Council."' Kilkerran house, from which the 
station is named, was enlarged by the present baronet, 
and presents a very massive appearance as it is ap- 
proached from the valley. Still, as I looked around the 
large dinner-table that evening, it was evident that the 
house was none too great for the large-hearted hospi- 
talities of the proprietor. 

Among the other guests, it was my good fortune to 
meet at Kilkerran the Right Hon. Robert Bourke, a son 
of the Earl of Mayo, and a member of the present Gov- 
ernment. Mr. Bourke accompanied Sir James on a visit 
to America at the beginning of our civil war. With let- 
ters of introduction which they bore to the leading gen- 
erals of the North and South, they visited both armies, 
and had most remarkable opportunities for seeing the 
actual condition of things on both sides of the Potomac. 
They were not only able to tell me many things of which 
I had never dreamed, but their revelations would have 
been, I imagine, quite as startling to the men who were 
our Cabinet Ministers during the rebellion. 



* Sir James is now Governor of Bombay. 



344 Saunterings in Europe. 

One of the most novel of my Kilkerran experiences^ 
was a day on the moor with Capt. Fergusson. There had 
been, of course, a large party out on the I2th of August, 
the day when the grouse-shooting begins, and a great 
many birds had been brought down ; but the wet 
weather which followed had turned the moor into a 
great sponge, so that the grouse, the head-keeper said, 
would probably be " quite irreproachable." But in spite 
of all discouragements, I was unable to resist such an 
opportunity. We started out with four keepers and 
four well -trained dogs, with the certainty of getting 
plenty of exercise, if nothing else. We had some four 
miles to walk before reaching the moor ; but the chance 
of bringing down a hare or black-cock on the way, kept 
up the interest. By the time we came to the heather, it 
had begun to rain intermittingly. It was soon evident 
that the birds were so wild, it v/ould be impossible to 
use the dogs, and the only chance would be to come 
noiselessly upon them. As there was nothing to give 
warning when to be ready, it was necessary to be ready 
all the time ; and as a natural consequence, after tramp- 
ing several hours, sometimes a grouse or snipe would 
rise from the heather almost beneath our feet, and fly 
away, without even a salute being fired in his honor. 
Yet with all these things against us, we got something 
beside exercise — enough, at least, to show what the 
game-bags were for — and reached Kilkerran with an 
appetite which a few hours more would have developed 
into quite frightful proportions. 

A short sail from Ayr, along the coast and across the 
Firth, brought me to Rothesay, and Ardencraig, the home 



Some Scotch Homes. 345 

of Mr. Daliymple. Holding a seat in the present Par- 
liament as a member from Buteshire, Mr. Dalrymple 
has shown so many of the high qualities necessary for a 
statesman, that even his former political opponents, it is 
said, will cast their votes for him at the next election. 
Though an elder in the Kirk, he was lately appointed, 
with bishops and archbishops, upon a committee for the 
supervision of English cathedrals. 

A more beautiful situation than that of Ardencraig 
could scarcely be found in Scotland. To an American, 
it seems like a combination of the Hudson and New 
York harbor from Staten Island. Almost within sight 
from Ardencraig is Mount Stewart, one of the seats of 
the Marquis of Bute, the Lothair, it is supposed, of Dis- 
raeli's novel. Sir James Fergusson was for many years 
the guardian of the young Marquis, but found all his ef- 
forts unavailing to rescue him from the hands of the 
famous monsignor by whom he was led into the Church 
of Rome. 

Rothesay had at one time the honor of being a royal 
residence. Robert the Second, the Scotch king, often 
made the castle, which was old even then, his home ; 
and there he died in 1406. He had given to his oldest 
son the title of Duke of Rothesay, which now belongs 
to the Prince of Wales. For a long time the castle 
was almost a complete ruin, but has been so carefully 
restored that though in many parts the walls are broken, 
it presents, with its moat and drawbridge, all the char- 
acteristics of feudal times. 

On Monday morning, with two clergymen of the 

15* 



34^ Saunterings in Europe. 

Church of England whose presence and conversation I 
had greatly enjoyed at Ardencraig, we sailed out of 
Rothesay and across the bay toward Glasgow."'' As I 
looked back, I had but one regret : that the pleasant 
days spent among these delightful Scottish homes were 
past and gone. 



* One of these prelates is now Dean of Salisbury. 



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